


Two Tin Cans and a String

by star_ship



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Adventures in an IKEA, Aftercare, Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Barebacking, Body Image, Bondage, Candlenights, Car Accident, Choking, College AU, Coming Out, Day At The Beach, Deepthroating, Depression, Developing Friendships, Domestic Bliss, Edging, Established Relationship, F/F, Fat Shaming, Fluff, Forced Orgasm, Goodbyes in an Airport, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Healthy Relationships, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Intercrural Sex, Jealousy, Light BDSM, Long Distance Relationship, Love Letters, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Mouth Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Public Display of Affection, Recreational Drug Use, Road Trips, Romance, Schmoop, Sex Toys, Stalking, Stress Baking, Suicide, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, Underage Drinking, Using D&D to Get Laid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 18:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 120,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11742717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_ship/pseuds/star_ship
Summary: Riding the train back to Los Angeles, Pat had felt like he couldn’t last another six months like this, living on phone calls and tristes in hotels and love letters that only made the ache worse, and he still isn’t sure how he’ll do it, but he knows he’s going to. On the other side of this year apart is more of this–naked wine and chocolate in bed, Griffin’s awful puns and sloppy kisses, a bed that feels like a safe place from the rest of the world, and a man he trusts more than any other. It’s hard, being apart, but he’ll weather through it. He would choose Griffin every time.Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but in turn, the absence becomes harder to bear. After a year together, Griffin and Pat find themselves facing a long distance romance, doing their best to adjust and make it work despite obstacles and change.





	1. Chapter 1

What exactly does one do for a one year anniversary? It feels at once like far longer than a year and far shorter. They had been friends for quite some time before dating, and roommates before, as well, but still, when Pat thinks back over the timeline of knowing Griffin, it seems astonishingly short for feeling like they’ve known each other forever.

When Pat had moved out to Austin, legally emancipated and not knowing what in the hell a seventeen year old was supposed to do to support themselves but determined to figure it out, he hadn’t been thinking about the possibility of bonding with anyone. His focus had been to get a job (or three), go to a cheap community college to get all his core credits done without leaving himself up to his chin in debt, and apply to every decent school with a good game design program and hope like hell he got in. That was it, that was the focus. Don’t worry about why he’d gotten his GED instead of staying in his hometown another goddamn second past seventeen, don’t think about how much living in a grimy motel sucked, just save as much as he could, focus on doing as well as he could in school, and get into a reputable four-year university within a couple years, maybe three semesters if he was lucky. Austin was just a pit stop.

And then he met Griffin, and Austin didn’t feel like such a transient place anymore. In a very short time, it almost felt like home.

They’d met at Pat’s favorite of his three jobs, a part-time shift at a Game Stop situated in the strip mall a block from his motel (he called it his ‘apartment’ just so no one would feel bad for his situation), and Griffin was something of a regular. He was a couple years older than Pat and worked at the Guitar Center across the parking lot from the Game Stop and would come in on his lunch breaks, usually camping out at the Pokemon demo station to play and yell. His turns of phrase always caught Pat off guard in a laugh and several became sort of in-jokes with the other employees. Pat wasn’t sure when it happened, but shortly after he and Griffin started talking, they were suddenly just… friends. Griffin came to eat at Pat’s other jobs, both restaurants where he worked as a server, and always left him nice tips, and when the fall break came and Pat could no longer use school as an excuse to turn down Griffin’s offers to hang out outside of any work setting, Pat realized he was definitely crushing hard, and it seemed like it might be mutual.

When Griffin suggested they get an apartment together so that he could get out of the dorms and Pat could stop living in a motel room two floors above a meth dealer, Pat had told himself he was accepting because it was a practical decision. It was so much cheaper splitting rent that he was able to quit one of his server jobs, which meant more time at their newly shared apartment together, and more time to become obnoxiously crazy for one another.

On Pat’s eighteenth birthday, Griffin–by request–got him stoned for the first time, and they had wound up making out on the couch with such clumsy abandon that Griffin broke his glasses. From there on, the flirtacious tension between them sighed into a comfortable, affectionate equilibrium. What had briefly been Pat’s bedroom turned into a shared spare room, crammed with computers and midi keyboards and guitars, and a cat tree for the kitten they had found cold and hungry under Griffin’s car one winter morning and hadn’t the heart to turn away. When he had come to Austin, Pat had only imagined keeping his head down and doing what he needed to do until he could move on to something better. He hadn’t imagined meeting anyone like Griffin, much less sleeping every night for nearly a year next to him, or being in love, or having a best friend, and he didn’t realize he hadn’t known those things could all happen in one person.

Crossing over the last pedestrian bridge before home, Pat brings himself back to the present. Their anniversary has to be special. Maybe making dinner together, a romantic evening in? A gift seems appropriate, but Pat knows he’s awful at finding things that are both thoughtful, practical, and within his price range. He still has some time to decide on it, but not a lot. He’s been stewing over ideas the whole bike ride home from class and still hasn’t come up with anything that feels quite right.

Walking his bike across the freshly mowed grass towards their apartment building, Pat puts the issue to rest for now. As he stops to unlock their mailbox in the grid of boxes, he can hear the start and stop of music drifting from the open window of their second floor apartment: synthesized marimbas that play a phrase, stop, play again, smoother, a little different, stop… Griffin composing. Pat smiles to himself and stuffs the mail into his backpack, carrying his bike up the stairs and into their apartment.

Cecil, now a lanky adult cat, trots up to him and weaves between his legs as he puts the bike away on their balcony and tosses his backpack onto the couch with a heavy whoomph. There’s a sad, partially deflated mylar balloon in the shape of a beer stein bobbing in the corner, a remnant from Griffin’s recent birthday. Cecil lazily plays with the string and Pat sighs dramatically, resigning himself to study while Griffin is distracted with music so he doesn’t put it off indefinitely. He makes a stack of books on the couch cushion and then pulls out the mail, walking into the kitchen to pin the bills to the fridge when he stops short, his heart leaping up into the back of his throat as if trying to peek out of his mouth, just as incredulous at the envelope.

Pat drops the rest of the mail on the counter and walks hurriedly through the apartment to the spare room, not sure if he’s excited or nauseous or what. “Hey Griffy?” He’s wetting his lips and his hands are shaking. Griffin is squinting over his glasses at a sloppily penned sheet of music, but his brows return to neutral as he turns towards Pat and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, bud?” He goes to smile but it quickly dissipates, seeing the odd energy Pat is buzzing with. “…what’s up?” He takes a step toward Pat as Pat takes a step into the room, holding up the envelope, printed neatly with the University of Southern California logo. He’s smiling again, even though Pat is not. USC had been Pat’s dream school for years, and even though Pat didn’t think he’d get in, Griffin had convinced him to apply, anyway, had even paid the fee. “Fuck yeah, open it!”

Pat is shaking, not sure if he is afraid he’s been rejected, or that he has gotten in. Suddenly every ounce of stress, from upcoming exams to the undecided anniversary plans to his recently increased hours at the restaurant all hit him at once and he feels like he can’t quite draw a full breath. He laughs nervously and shoves a forefinger under the envelope flap, tearing it open. “This is dumb, it feels like a rejection letter. They send those big packages when you’re accepted, right?” He gets into the envelope and pulls the letter out, shaking the tri-fold open. He’s already reading “we regret to inform you” when he realizes that… he’s not.

_**Congratulations.** _

His tongue feels dry and heavy and all the stress breaks cleanly through the heavy feeling in his chest, replaced with a whole new cocktail of emotion. He starts to cry. Griffin coos softly and reaches to pull him into a hug. “Aw, babe, I’m sorry. You got in at UT, though! It’s still a good school! I mean, they let _my_ dumbass in, but–” He leans back to try and make Pat smile, but his boyfriend’s mouth is a thin, pressed line.

“I got in. Griffin, I got in.” He’s still crying. He hadn’t thought about it until right this second, he’d almost hoped he wouldn’t be accepted, but now he knows he can’t pass up this opportunity, and taking it means… leaving. Griffin seems to realize it, too, but Pat can tell he’s thought about it before. He cups Pat’s face and brushes hot tears away with his thumbs, kissing the end of his nose.

“Hey… hey! Listen to me. We’re gonna be fine, babe, okay?” Pat sighs heavily, looking up at the ceiling, his shoulders sagging forward. Griffin loops both arms around the small of his back and pulls Pat close, kissing the side of his mouth. “We got this, a’right? I’ve only got another year and then I can come out and meet you. It’s not like all we’ve got is two tin cans and a string across eight fuckin’ states, mmkay? We can Skype all the time and maybe even make trips. It’s not a big deal! …okay?” He nudges Pat’s cheek with his nose until Pat finally nods, sniffling. “Okay?”

Pat nods again, leaning into Griffin. “Yeah, okay.”

Griffin rubs his back. “Good. Now,” he snatches the letter and pulls away, pushing past Pat towards the kitchen. “This is going up on the fridge, cuz my boy’s goin’ to a _good_ school! Cecil, you’re gonna be in California before you know it! Oh, Cecil’s licking his no-balls…”

Pat laughs, following after Griffin, wiping his eyes. Fuck, he has a really good boyfriend. Cecil goes back to grooming himself and Pat is there to wrap his arms around Griffin’s shoulders just as Griffin is tacking a Tybee Island magnet over the acceptance letter, displaying it proudly next to their electric bill. “Love you, y’know that?”

Griffin smiles, a little sadly, and squeezes Pat back, getting a proper kiss this time. “Yeah, I kinda guessed.” They hug each other in the kitchen for a long moment before Griffin can’t help but break the silence. “You know this means we gotta really bone down before you leave, though. I mean like seriously regimented, high-intensity fucking, you got me?” Pat blushes and laughs, pulling away.

“Oh fuck off,” he chides, but he’s smiling.

“I’m serious!” Griffin booms, pressing back up against Pat, his hands cupping the back of Pat’s thighs. “You gotta fill my tank up, can’t leave cha’boy on empty!”

Pat tries not very hard to get away. “No, shut up, I hate you! I take it back!” but he presses his laughing mouth down over Griffin’s, and the giggling turns to moans and then back to giggles, rinse, repeat.

The letter on the fridge hangs like a banner of accomplishment for now, and not quite like a possible death sentence for a relationship they both find immeasurably important. They still have the summer to fill up their tanks. Maybe they really will be fine.


	2. Chapter 2

The summer drags, weighed down by its own soupy heat. Pat isn’t sure if he feels thankful or tortured. On one hand, he feels like with the slow pace, he can better enjoy his summer with Griffin before he’s off alone to California for a year; despite working three jobs again (he hadn’t told the new place he’s leaving at the end of August, he just needs the extra cash), they spend every spare second together. The sex is more fun, more playful, and when it isn’t, it’s tinged with desperation, a sort of lovemaking that scares both of them, but not enough to shy away from it. Pat doesn’t think he’ll have much issue with just his hand to satisfy him, he’s the type to not think much about sex until it’s brought up, but the sensuality, the intimacy… he is going to ache for that, he’s sure of it.

That part is the other hand. The longer the summer lazily passes, the more time he has to think about all the things he will miss, to alternate between stress and excitement about having things ready for the dorm and his first year at _his fucking dream school_ , and sometimes when he can’t make himself push it away, he thinks about the _what if_ of that first year ending… and Griffin not coming out to meet him. That is the scariest part. He supposes if they aren’t going to work out in the end, they could break up just as easily living together as they could half a continent apart, but it is a nagging fear through the months of sweltering heat and thunderstorms that this summer will be the last happy days they spend together. Pat tries very hard not to think about it.

The last morning at home is rough for him. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror for a long while, looking at the empty spaces where his toiletries used to sit next to Griffin’s on the counter, at the bruises and bitemarks and hickies all over him from the last few weeks. They were going to fade and the thought of not having some mark from his boyfriend’s hungry, enthusiastic mouth after a year of carrying around little reminders is disheartening. When Pat finally pulls on his shirt and leaves the bathroom, Cecil is sitting at the door waiting for him, and he loses it for the third time in the last hour. He scoops Cecil up and cries into his fur for a while, sitting on the bed he’s shared with Griffin and lets himself be sad, lets himself try to purge all the fear and worry and feelings of grief.

He has learned so much about his own body in this bed. Griffin wasn’t the first, but he might as well have been. He has never been as trusting or comfortable with a partner before him, hasn’t been able to fully relax and enjoy himself before. He feels safe experimenting with Griffin, and doesn’t feel embarrassed when the experimenting collapses into laughter and a ditched plan. They have made love in this bed. Pat used to think that was just another word for sex, but it’s different. It is so different. Pat has let Griffin choke him and tie him up, blindfold him, but he’s never felt more vulnerable than when the focus shifts away from pleasure and becomes about trying desperately to synchronize, to breathe together and feel together, like if they try hard enough, they can fuse.

He thinks about last night and how dark Griffin’s eyes were, how they couldn’t say how scared they both were to be apart, but it was there, not needing words. Pat had clung to him and cried and he’s sobbing into Cecil’s fur now. Griffin walks into the room and Cecil squirms out of Pat’s arms, running off to his breakfast of wet food. Sitting down on the bed, Griffin puts his arms around Pat and doesn’t say anything for a while, rubbing his back in circles.

“We need to head out soon, babe. Have you double-checked you’ve got everything?” Pat quickly pins his shit back together and sits up, pulling away from Griffin and wiping his face, nodding.

“Yeah, I’m good… can we stop for breakfast?”

Griffin smiles, standing and offering his hand to Pat. “Heck yeah, come on.”

Once they clear Austin, they’re one of few cars for miles and miles, and then they are the only one. They take the south route along the Mexican border most of the way, a straight shot with just a long nap at a rest stop halfway, seats laid back as much as they can with Pat’s things stacked in the back seat, holding hands over the middle console. For most of the way, they both suspend belief and it feels like a fun summer road trip, going ten over with the windows down through the empty midnight desert highway, music up and singing at the top of their lungs. Pat soaks up as much of Griffin’s tinny, clear voice as he can. As the sun is rising, they take a break from the music for a while, Pat reaching for Griffin’s hand and squeezing it. Griffin squeezes back and doesn’t let go until they stop for gas just outside Joshua Tree National Park.

The final hour or so is hell, with Pat navigating and Griffin trying not to have a fucking panic attack in the notorious Los Angeles traffic, but at last, they make it, parking in a garage a block away from Pat’s dorm. They are both exhausted, but soldier through, checking Pat in at the front office and unloading the car. Griffin starts to unpack boxes but Pat pulls him into one of the creaky twin beds, demanding they nap and then get lunch before lifting another finger. His roommate won’t be there until tomorrow afternoon, they have time. The moment Griffin hits the bed, he’s asleep and Pat’s lightly runs his fingers up and down Griffin’s arm before he drifts off.

The nap lasts until the evening and they’re both starving when they wake up. Pat insists he can unpack whenever, there isn’t that much, and they leave the dorm to find somewhere to eat, walking a few blocks before spotting a brick oven pizza place that smells so good from the street that Griffin groans loudly, tugging Pat toward the door. They don’t realize the whole menu is vegan until the giant pizza is being delivered to their table, but they’re too hungry and tired to care and it turns out to be outrageously delicious. Griffin makes loud noises of approval through several slices before finally slowing down, reaching across the table to rest a hand over Pat’s. Pat gives him a half smile and almost pulls away, but he figures a vegan restaurant in the middle of LA probably isn’t likely to house many homophobes. Not that Austin had been particularly bad, but they had always been careful. He flips his hand over under Griffin’s and strokes his wrist. “Are you sure I can’t hide you under my bed for a couple semesters?”

Griffin frowns, sighing. “I wish, buddy… I wish I could have gotten a couple more days off work, help you settle in, maybe sight-see.” As it stands, he has to leave tomorrow afternoon to make it back for work. He had been made assistant manager at the start of June and while it came with perks, it also had its setbacks. “It’s gonna be okay, though.” They have both said these words hundreds of times over the summer, assuring themselves as much as each other. They fall silent again and manage to finish everything but the crusts, heading back out and deciding to walk around campus as the sun is setting. Pat reaches for Griffin’s hand and laces their fingers together and unlike even weird and liberal Austin, they don’t get a single look. He decides he likes California.

They find a quiet spot behind a row of campus offices and sit for a while on a swinging bench under an arbor of jasmine, talking about nothing in particular. Griffin has his arm around the back of the bench, draped over Pat’s shoulders, and he can’t stop looking at him, just… looking. Pat rests a hand on Griffin’s knee and looks back. They laugh for a while over inside jokes they’ve worn down to the bone before Griffin checks his watch, the one Pat had given him for their anniversary, and they decide to head back to the dorm.

Once back, they half-heartedly unpack for a while before curling back up on the tiny, thin mattress. They both think they might have sex one last time, but they only kiss and squeeze onto each other until they fall asleep in a tangle, foreheads pressed together. Griffin wakes up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night and when he settles back down beside Pat, all he can think is _shit shit shit shit shit this sucks, this is going to suck_. It _already_ sucks. For the last week, he’s felt like the weight of knowing everything is “the last” has hung over everything they did together. The last meal they cooked together, the last movie they watched, the last morning on the balcony with strong black coffee Griffin never made right, the last night playing video games or squeezing into their tiny bathtub together. He had to remind himself, it was only the last time for a while, but still his mind kept repeating… _the last_.

The sound of other students moving in wakes them the next morning, though they stay in bed for a long while, snuggling and wordlessly trying to communicate how fucking much they’re going to miss one another. Pat is the first to pull away, kissing Griffin’s shoulder and shuffling to the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he comes out, Griffin is already dressed and they swap places.

It’s a little after ten and they drive to get breakfast burritos and sit on the beach. The wind is blasting and Pat gets cold the second they step out of the car. Griffin pulls a hoodie from the trunk and hands it over and while they’re sitting on the sand, watching the waves, he nudges Pat and tells him to keep it. Pat nods, knowing instantly he’s going to wear or carry this goddamn jacket with him everywhere, and they eat and watch the Pacific until Griffin finally stands up, brushing sand off his ass. “Babe, I have to go.” Pat doesn’t move for a long moment, sitting with his ankles crossed and hugging his knees, staring at the ocean like it will spit up some good reason for Griffin to stay.

Before Griffin can prompt him again, he stands up and they walk in silence back to the car, drive in silence back to the dorms. When they get out, Griffin tugs Pat to him on the sidewalk, feeling him start to shut down. He understands and doesn’t push, hugging him for a long while before pulling back and leaning up on his toes, kissing Pat gently. Pat grips onto him and kisses him like he’s drowning. People walk past carrying boxes and furniture to the dorms and neither of them care.

When they break apart, Griffin loops his arms around Pat’s waist and looks up at him. “I wanna make you a promise.” Pat scoffs softly, fighting back tears. “I know, I know, but I just… look, it’s one thing if we grow apart and change, and I’m like, fucking _terrified_ of that happening, but… I’m not going to give up just because it’s hard. I love you, okay?”

Pat sniffs, nodding, his eyes shut and head tucked down. He mumbles that he loves Griffin, too. Griffin seems satisfied with that, kissing him again, pulling away, leaning back in for one more kiss. Pat laughs weakly the third time and puts a hand on Griffin’s chest, pushing him away gently. “Go. I’ll be okay.” He almost believes himself. He probably will be, but it doesn’t feel like it all right now, with his heart aching, feeling like it will implode and turn his chest inside out.

Griffin purses his lips and nods, his hand dropping to Pat’s elbow and sliding down his arm, taking his hand to kiss his knuckles as he slowly backs away to his car, parked on the street. “Be amazing, a’right?”

Pat nods and manages a tight smile, folding his arms stiffly across his chest. “You, too.”

They wave and Griffin pulls into traffic, Pat standing on the sidewalk and watching until he can’t see the car anymore. When it’s gone, he sits down on the curb and puts his head in his hands, trying like hell not to feel so goddamn bummed out and failing miserably.

Griffin makes it out of Los Angeles and stops at a gas station to clear his head. He’s been gritting his teeth since he pulled away and his throat feels tight, but he hasn’t cried yet, he’s not a crier like Pat, even when he feels like maybe he’d probably do better with a good weep. He sits and breathes for a while, and then grabs his phone to text Pat that he misses him already, but Pat has beat him to it.

It’s going to be a very long year.


	3. Chapter 3

Establishing routines is grueling and stressful, but once the pattern is set, like a kind of metronome, everything else falls into place. By the end of September, things start to feel like a new kind of normal. Pat has a good mope at least once a day–having the picture of he and Griffin at the Zilker Botanical Garden as his lock screen might be hurting as much as it helps–but for the most part, he enjoys his classes and exploring LA and he and Griffin text and talk as much as they can. He doesn’t feel like they’re growing apart, despite the distance.

His new job working at a locally owned bookstore pays well enough that he doesn’t need another job, and the free time and low stress is such a luxury. After spending the last couple of years working multiple jobs while also going to school, he’s relieved to finally have a little breathing room in his life. He has even started taking yoga classes at the student gym twice a week, which Griffin initially teases him for until Pat shows him how flexible he’s getting. Luckily for both of them, Pat’s roommate is from Long Beach and returns home most weekends, giving Pat some much needed alone time, and he and Griffin an opportunity to talk more candidly when they video chat.

The familiar chimes of Skype’s dial-out has quickly established a Pavlovian response in both of them. No matter how tired or stressed either of them are, the little bubbling ring perks them up, and after the way their last few weekend calls have gone, makes them a little horny.

Tonight is date night. It’s Griffin’s turn to order the food, having Chinese take-out sent to Pat’s dorm and ordering some locally for himself. They eat together and talk about the parts of their week they hadn’t covered in texts, or new video games coming out, or irrelevant things just to hear each other’s voice. Poor video quality and awkward angles aside–they usually both set their laptops at the end of the bed when they talk for long periods like this–it is such a novelty to feel face-to-face.

They take a quick break to put away leftovers and grab drinks, and when Pat comes back to sit down, he notices an innocuous black bag sitting next to Griffin on the bed. He raises a brow and cocks his head. “What’s that?” he asks with a teasing, accusatory tone.

Griffin rests a hand over the bag with a loud plastic crinkle, blushing. “I, um… I might have stopped by the Fantasy Costco earlier.” It was actually the Fantasy _Closet_ , a warehouse sized adult store on the outskirts of Austin. Pat had never seen so many vibrators in his life.

“Ooooh, and?” Pat is smiling, nonchalantly sipping a glass of water.

“Uuuh, well…” Griffin shucks the bag off the toy and holds it up: a dark blue silicone dildo–it looks like it might have glitter in it but Pat can’t quite tell–long and skinny like Pat. “I might have, y’know…” Griffin still looks nervous, but he brings the tip of the plastic cock to rest against his lips, “missed you.”

Pat quietly whispers _“oh, shit”_ and leans to tap on his bedside lamp, switching the room light off. One of his favorite benefits of Griffin’s oral fixation and obsession with mouths is his enthusiasm for oral, eager to please and exceptionally talented. Pat is instantly aroused and reaches with one hand to start unbuttoning his shirt, shifting to get comfortable and staring almost unblinking at the screen as Griffin starts to lick at the toy, a little shyly at first, and then sloppier, getting the tip good and wet. Pat bites his lip as he watches Griffin rub at himself through his sweatpants, peeling off his shirt and toying with a nipple for now, wanting to really enjoy this show. Griffin has never been one to disappoint.

Griffin begins to suck the head, rolling his tongue around it and moaning softly. His glasses slip down his nose and he takes them off, placing them on the pillow behind him, thinks about it again, then puts them back on so that Pat isn’t just a blurry shape on the screen. Pat chuckles at him softly, running a hand down his stomach and pushing his hips up. “You’re so fucking cute.”

Griffin pulls the toy out of his mouth and laughs loudly. He’s self-conscious about this still. When it’s Pat’s skin under his tongue, he doesn’t care what he looks like or how much noise he makes, but doing this over camera makes it feel like a performance and his nerves react accordingly. “Shut up, you ass!” He almost sounds like he’s actually put off but Pat is pulling out his cock now and Griffin feels his mouth water, settling back on his heels and sucking on the head again.

After a little while, he closes his eyes and indulges in the sensory bliss of having his mouth filled, warmed up now by his own body heat enough that he can imagine that it’s not just a polymer-tasting substitute for the person he misses. There is spit dripping down his chin and he stops for just a moment, holding the toy gently with his teeth as he pulls his shirt off and throws it on the floor and pushes the waistband of his sweatpants down under his balls, letting his dick bob out. He turns his attention to the screen just as Pat finally starts to touch himself and Griffin lets out a loud, desperate moan when Pat looks directly into the camera and sticks two fingers in his mouth, rolling his tongue out against them.

Any of Griffin’s lingering shyness falls away and he shoves the dildo down his throat, choking only a little, his free hand rubbing at his soft belly, resisting the urge to jerk off just yet. Pat’s hips buck up into his fist and he sits up a little more, thinking of how it feels when Griffin deep throats him, his nose nestled up against his pubic bone and happily choking on Pat’s dick. Griffin pulls the toy out and sucks on it noisily, whining again when Pat leans forward and plays with his tongue, mouth hanging open so Griffin can see. He doesn’t really get the kink, but he’s perfectly fine with indulging Griffin, especially when it makes him flush from his ears down onto his chest and groan so pitifully.

Pat can’t help it and starts to stroke himself earnestly now and Griffin takes note, squeezing himself and fucking his throat with the toy in time to Pat’s hand. Pat has no idea how he does that, especially after a meal, but it’s something of a smutty super power and Griffin loves the way it feels, choking around the silicone, tears streaming down his face. Pat bites his lip hard and pants, muttering Griffin’s name and some half-intelligible words of encouragement.

Hearing his voice, Griffin slows down, pacing himself, going back to licking at the tip and scooting a little closer to the laptop, scuttling over the mattress on his knees, cock swaying as he moves. Pat licks his lips and feels sweat bead on his brow, shifting onto his knees to mirror Griffin, moving his hips into his hand now, rather than his hand over his cock. The imagery puts them both in a similar fantasy, a foggy, lusty headspace where every blowjob Griffin’s ever given him is stitched together into a fantasy now shared across two time zones: Griffin on his knees, kissing up Pat’s shaft and smoothing his hands down his thighs before deftly swallowing his whole length, sucking hard for a moment before he starts to bob his head and letting Pat fuck his mouth.

Pat’s short nails dig into his own hip, wanting to grip onto Griffin’s hair. “Babe, touch yourself.” He’s been watching Griffin only squeeze and rub, holding back from stroking. It is all Griffin needs to know that Pat is getting close, moaning louder and more frequently, unravelling into a whiny mess as he starts to jerk off, drooling around the toy.

Pat’s mouth hangs open as he pants, watching Griffin with unwavering attention, spitting several times into his hand for both lube and show. Griffin breaks character briefly to giggle, drunk with lust, at Pat humoring him. He knows his boyfriend doesn’t share his turn-on, but he’s such a good sport about it.

They fall back into a rhythm, mimicking each other’s pace and movements until Pat is crying out, strained and as quiet as he can manage, head hung back and thin chest heaving as his body thrums, a spot of cum making it all the way to the laptop’s keyboard. He can clean up later… right now he doesn’t care at all, sinking down between his ankles, sweaty and winded, watching Griffin find his end, a sloppy, keening whine around the toy that sputters into gags as he finally takes it out of his mouth and milks himself dry.

The quiet afterglow is a treasure, both of them catching their breath and unable to stop smiling at each other, pushing hands back through hair in shy little gestures and moving to start cleaning up the mess they have made. When they are both settled back on their beds, Griffin completely nude now and looking boneless, melting back into the pillows stacked against the headboard, Pat starts to feel the twinge of sadness that always seemed to chase the climax. “I love you,” he lets out softly, and it sounds a hell of a lot like _I miss you_ anymore.

Griffin smiles softly, tilting his head. “Me, too.” A comfortable but melancholy silence settles between them for a moment before they shift back to talking about classes and plans to meet later in the fall. Talking about seeing Griffin in the flesh helps Pat shed the weight of loneliness that has settled around him.

They chat for a little while longer before Pat insists Griffin get some sleep. He has a morning shift at work and it’s already past midnight for Pat, making it well into the early morning for Griffin. After several _I love you_ 's and multiple _good night_ 's, they finally end the call and Pat shuts his laptop, turning off his lamp and settling into bed. The loneliness creeps back around him, but he has Griffin’s hoodie balled up on the bed next to him, squeezing it to ward the sad feelings off, falling asleep with his nose buried in the fabric.

Griffin lies awake for over an hour, staring at the ceiling, wishing he could will the calendar forward and hurtle himself through time to be next to Pat, sharing an apartment and a bed again. This is his hardest adjustment, sleeping alone. But they have a date now! A real plan to meet, time requested off work, not just dreaming loosely about being in each other’s arms again. A day in the future that only draws closer, and when it arrives, Griffin swears he’s going to enjoy every second with Pat.

He finally gets up to piss and pull back on some sleep clothes, splaying out on the mattress as Cecil jumps up to snooze next to him, daydreaming about seeing Pat again soon in Vegas. He’s thinking about walking down the strip holding Pat’s hand, or lazing around naked in a cheap hotel room, of night drives through the desert and actual skin-on-skin, and as he’s letting all this fill his mind, further into the early hours than he would have liked, Griffin finally finds sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Griffin comes home from work to find a box sitting in front of the apartment door next to his ceramic jack-o-lantern. A care package from Pat. They have been sending each other a package about once every three weeks or so, with some letters and cards in between, and each time feels like a little treasure chest that Griffin goes through slowly, drawing out the lofty, lovey-dovey feeling of getting an assortment of little gifts from Pat.

There are staples, of course. He sends Pat two small, round loaves of homemade rosemary bread and usually some sort of sweet, like cookies or cupcakes, and Pat usually sends interesting candy or snacks and cat toys or treats for Cecil. They also have a rotation of Pat’s shirts. Pat will send Griffin a dirty undershirt after a day of riding his bike to work or class, and when the scent has faded, Griffin launders the shirt and sends it back. Pat had thought it was a little strange at first, but Griffin insists having something with Pat’s actual pheromones–not his body wash or cologne, but his natural smell–is comforting as hell to have. He uses the shirts as a pillowcase and falls asleep imagining he’s nestled against Pat’s side, head on his shoulder, breathing him in.

Griffin puts the box on the small table in the kitchen and gets changed into some comfortable clothes, trying to decide if he should do homework and reward himself with Pat’s package. After some debating, staring between the box and his bookbag in the chair by the table, he finally guilts himself into being studious, taking his bag into his bedroom to eliminate the temptation of seeing the box. Once he is done, he puts his books and laptop away and checks his phone, purposely dragging out the anticipation of opening his little surprise.

Two new texts, one from Pat, and another from Cody.

From Cody, simply **in Dallas, back by mon**. Cody has been Griffin’s roommate since early September and Griffin thinks he’s probably a serial killer or a human trafficker or a gigolo or something–he is almost never at the apartment and keeps completely to himself–but he is an ideal roommate. Pays rent on time, never complains about splitting the bills, doesn’t eat Griffin’s food in the fridge… so Griffin lets his odd behavior slide. He shoots back a quick _k_ before checking the text from Pat.

**How was work? I heard someone laugh earlier and it sounded like yours and it made me really sappy :/**

Griffin smiles and grabs his box, taking it into his room before replying to Pat.

_it was work… just got your package, about to open!_

He pulls the tape with a satisfying rip that sends Cecil running out of the room, offended. He opens the flaps and can’t stop grinning, looking at all the little details. Pat always packages them in an attractive way, this time with little paper stars and some silver confetti tucked in with the tissue paper to cushion some hard candies from rattling around in transit. Griffin pulls the tissue paper out and looks at the bags of candy and the sticky note attached to one of them. In Pat’s blocky hand, _From Little Tokyo._

Griffin looks at each package and decides to try a lychee gummy, then a hard candy that he couldn’t decipher from either packaging or taste what the flavor was meant to be. Ginger and tea? …soy sauce? It’s good, but strange. He goes back to the gummies and picks up his phone as it chirps with a reply from Pat.

**You like it? There were hentai mangas right next to the candy display, I almost bought some for you but that import tax is steep.**

_LMAO yeah, these candies are lit, babe_

**I don’t think you’re using that right.**

_probs not, it’s cool. everyone just assumes I’m misusing the lingo to be ironic._

**That’s……. ironic.**

_lit_

He includes several fire emojis and Pat sends back about a dozen laughing faces. Griffin chuckles, pulling out the letter and a little package of sesame snacks, finding a small felt fish for Cecil. It has stiff plastic sheeting inside that crinkles when he squeezes it and he can see Cecil’s tail swishing at the edge of the bed within ten seconds. Cecil can’t resist a good crinkle. Griffin tosses it down onto the floor for him and sends Pat a quick SnapChat video of Cecil kicking the toy around, tossing it up in the air and diving for it. Pat responds quickly.

**Aaaaaw, I miss both my boys so much!**

_we miss you too babe_

**I have class in ten minutes and have a few blocks to ride there, talk to you later tonight?**

_ok, love you_

He gets several hearts back and sets his phone aside, getting to the shirt folded neatly at the bottom of the box and practically smothering himself with it, taking in a big lungful of boyfriend smell. It’s bittersweet to have the scent attached to so many memories and such strong emotions when the source is a day’s drive away, but sometimes coming home to a pillow that smells like Pat is the only thing that makes him feel relaxed.

Griffin puts the shirt over his pillow (the one he uses for his head, not the ten others he fits around himself at night) and is opening up the letter when his phone starts to vibrate and Jimmy Buffet is looking for his lost shaker of salt. He grabs the phone and swipes to accept the call, putting it to his ear.

“Hey, Juice.”

“Did you know centipedes have purple fucking blood?” Justin rolls right into a story about Sydnee making him kill a bug that refused to die and Griffin is used to this: no small talk, just directly into whatever thing his brother thought was funny or weird or infuriating that was too long to text. He doesn’t mind, laughing loudly at the exaggerated way Justin tells the story, like he was up against a battle-hardened war beast and not a common pest.

“Anyway, they’re fucking purple on the inside, and there is _**an audible pop**_ when you squish ‘em, and they just disintegrate into a billion legs like some kind of fucking bug demon. How’s school?”

“I made it through midterms without having a total nervous breakdown, so it’s going good.”

“Cool, cool… anything else goin’ on?”

Griffin looks down at the letter sitting in his lap, stalling. “Uuuuuh, naw? Pat sent me some stuff from Japantown, and a toy for Cecil.”

“That was nice of him. He’s liking California?”

“Yeah, he seems like he’s really happy there, actually.” Aside from missing each other, Griffin can tell Pat loves Los Angeles and keeps promising Griffin he’ll love it, too. Griffin doesn’t doubt him, but he’s pretty sure he’d like anywhere that his boyfriend is. He drifts off long enough that Justin can tell something is weird and Griffin’s been wrestling with this for almost a year.

He told himself when he had figured out he definitely liked guys, too, that he wouldn’t come out until he was with someone important enough to tell his family about. Friends here in Austin know about Pat, he often can’t help himself from making bi puns, and he doesn’t even think his family will react poorly, he’s just… scared. That he’ll have judged them wrong or they won’t like Pat or if it will just make things different. He doesn’t think he can deal with it changing the relationship he has with Justin or his dad–he was so glad it hadn’t made a difference with Travis–but it feels too scary to risk being wrong, and all at once, he feels like it’s gone on long enough that at this point, he’s lying to them. They think Pat is his good buddy, somebody he bonded with and has kept in touch with after Pat moved away for school, and while that’s true in some sense, it isn’t the truth.

“What’s goin’ on, Griffy?”

This has been on his mind for a long, long time, but especially since he and Pat had started dating, he knew he would have to get here at some point. Anxiety mounts in his chest and Griffin almost lets it win, but he glances at the letter, at the shoebox full of other love letters on his desk, and pushes it all out before he can stop himself. “You know Patrick wasn’t just my roommate, right?”

There’s a long pause before Justin hums, _mmhmm?_ “I mean, no, but go on.”

“He was my roommate for a while, but… we started dating pretty soon after he moved in. We were together for over a year before he moved out, and we’re, uh, we’re doing the long distance thing now.” Griffin picks at the edge of his shorts nervously, feeling his heart pound and trying to play it cool.

“Oh man, that sucks.” Griffin bites the inside of his cheek, but Justin sounds oddly nonchalant. “I mean the long distance deal, that’s gotta be hard.”

A wave of relief and disbelief washes over Griffin and he lays back on the pillow that smells like Pat. “I mean, yeah, it’s the pits. But, uh, I’m planning to move out to be with him once I’m done with school.”

“Oh dang. Wow.“ Griffin frowns, hearing something in Justin’s voice that makes him worry again. "I gotta be honest, Griffin, that kinda breaks my heart. I mean I guess it doesn’t make a huge difference but it just feels like you’re gonna be that much further away.” Justin isn’t shy about wishing his younger brothers had stayed planted in their hometown. Cincinnati is at least a feasible drive, but Texas felt like the moon when Griffin first left home, and the thought of him being all the way across the country made Justin fear they would grow apart.

“I’s’not that far. You can come visit us! Though I’ve been looking at apartments in LA and that shit… like, a shoebox sized place is twice my rent now. But we’ll figure it out.”

Another pause. “Why did it take you so long to tell me?” Griffin can tell Justin is hurt. He frowns and picks at the hem of his shirt.

“I don’t know… I really don’t. Every time I thought about it, I chickened out. But I’m telling you now, and it’s not going bad? Right?”

“No, it’s not going bad. I just don’t… I hope I never said or did anything to make you feel like you couldn’t tell me something like this, y’know? Does Trav know?”

“Yeah.”

_“You told **Travis** first?!”_

Griffin grimaces and pulls the phone away from his ear. “Fuck me, no! Travis didn’t get told shit, Travis doesn’t fucking knock and found out back in high school.”

“Okay, good.” Justin seems rather satisfied with that. “Hey, what does this guy look like, anyway? I mean, I think I’ve seen him on Facebook, but I wanna see y’all together.”

Griffin sighs and puts Justin on speaker, pulling up one of his favorite photos of him and Pat together at a trivia night the local gay bar held every Thursday. He texted it to Justin and heard Justin’s phone ping as he received it. “Mmkay, a’right… he’s a handsome lookin’ fella!”

Griffin laughs nervously, taking Justin back off speaker. “I’ve got high standards.”

“You both look really happy, Griffy.” Justin’s voice is serious in that big brother way that makes Griffin feel sad about things he can’t quite place.

“Yeah… yeah, we are. I mean, the distance really sucks, but… I love him a lot.”

Justin hums a little, like that was what he needed to hear, and Griffin tells him about their trip planned for the coming month. He had been willing to drive all the way to Las Vegas, but hadn’t gotten as many days off from work as he had asked for. To cut down on travel time, he and Pat had decided instead of meet in Albuquerque. They can always do Vegas another time and there is the distinct possibility they wouldn’t be seeing much outside the motel room, anyway.

They talk for nearly an hour, Justin prodding him for the basic details of how their relationship began and the like, before they start to wander off into their usual aimless chatting, and Griffin feels lighter. For something that had filled him with the dread for the unknown, talking to his brother about his boyfriend feels completely normal. Nothing has changed. He feels a sense of gratitude, but as they’re winding down and about to hang up, it’s Justin that says "thank you”.

Griffin blinks. “For what?”

“For trusting me. I know that had to be hard, and I can’t imagine what it was like not talking about something important to you for that long. I love you, Ditto, you know that.” Not a question.

“I know. I love you, too, and stuff.”

“Mmkay. Good. Warn me when you decide to tell Dad?” He’s mostly joking. Griffin’s stomach tightens again.

“Uuuuh, yeah, ‘kay.” He doesn’t think that will happen anytime soon. One anxious hurdle at a time. They say goodbye and Griffin stares at the ceiling for a while before texting Travis.

_sooooooo I came out to Justin._

Travis replies almost immediately with a screenshot of a text from Justin reading **i’m so mad you knew first lol** with the attached message:

**FUCKING FINALLY! do u know how many timed I almost accidentally outed you?????????**

_thanks for NOT doing that_

Griffin texts Travis for a while before he finally feels the nervous energy dissipate. He knows this is a big deal, but it’s so nice that it feels like a normal Wednesday.

He sits up and looks at the love letter sitting in the open box and feels a few butterflies flutter around in his chest. A little undiscovered treasure still left to enjoy. The past hour has left him feeling relieved but exhausted, and he can’t imagine anything more calming than reading whatever corny, romantic fluff Pat has penned out for him.

More at ease now than he’s been in weeks, Griffin unwraps another candy, lays back on the familiar smelling pillow, and reads the letter twice.


	5. Chapter 5

Pat is surprised by how well he sleeps on the train. He had boarded in LA a little before ten o’clock at night and fell asleep soon after departing the glow of city lights, waking up around eight the next morning to the smell of coffee. He stretches and freshens up in the small bathroom before walking to the dining car for a quick breakfast of toast and fruit, strolling the full length of the train–or what was accessible to him–before going back to his seat. He is lucky and the car is empty enough that he has both seats to himself, putting his bag in the seat next to him and digging out his phone to turn it on and text Griffin.

_Good morning! I get to see you today!_

He realizes soon after that Griffin had sent him a SnapChat video almost two hours ago. He plugs in his earbuds and plays the Snap: Griffin filming himself behind the wheel and stuck in Austin morning traffic. “I’m comin’ to get ya! I am so goddamn tired and under-caffeinated, but I cannot wait to see you, baby.”

Pat grins, turning his back to the window and sending a video back with his face in the lower corner and the high desert bathed in morning light passing behind him, mountains in the distance, already snow-capped. He adds some hearts and a simple caption of “soon”. And it is, very soon. For months now, he had felt like the day would never come, but now it was only a matter of hours before he sees Griffin again and it is such an outrageously exciting prospect that it feels unreal. He won’t believe it until he’s actually wrapping his arms around Griffin.

He resists the urge to text Griffin throughout the day, not wanting to distract him from driving, but they text when Griffin stops for lunch and again to check in when he stops later for gas. Pat is almost in New Mexico by then and can feel himself getting very antsy. Every now and again, a serene, soothing calm settles over him, a warm feeling, as he thinks about being curled up under the covers with Griffin, spooned against his back or tangled together face-to-face, and he realizes that that is something he’s going to do tonight, not at some implacable far-off date, it’s not something he has to daydream about anymore, he gets to go to sleep with his boyfriend next to him tonight. At this point, the excitement comes back, and he jiggles his leg nervously and grins like a buffoon out at the desert.

As things go, when Pat is getting off the train and into the station’s lobby, Griffin isn’t there. A combination of construction and traffic from an accident has stalled him on the other side of the Sandias. Pat calls him and rolls his bag over to a large window, getting a look at what’s around the station. Griffin picks up and Pat can tell he’s very irritated. “Hey… I’m dead stopped, I haven’t moved in fifteen minutes. I’m so sorry, babe, are you there already?”

“It’s okay, I just got here. I’m starving, though. Why don’t I go ahead and find us a hotel, get something to eat, and I’ll text you the address and room number?” He can see the corner of a Comfort Inn sign a few blocks down.

Griffin sighs and Pat hears sirens growing louder and then pass Griffin’s car. “Mmkay, that sounds good. I’m sorry, fuck… I’m probably another hour out from you once I finally start going again.”

Pat frowns. “Don’t worry about it! I’ll see you soon enough.” They hang up and he pulls on his jacket–Griffin’s actually–before walking to the hotel and getting a room. Once in, he strips the comforter off the bed and turns on the heater, pulling a few things from his suitcase to set out and have ready before he takes just his phone and wallet and walks another block to get a sandwich and some snacks for later.

Somehow he misses the car, but when he checks the window for the thirtieth time or so, Griffin is carrying his bag up the stairs and heading towards the room. Pat gasps in excitement and fumbles with the lock, yanking open the door just as Griffin is walking up to it. They lock eyes and suddenly realize that the eighty-seven days they have spent apart were far longer than they had ever been before. Pat feels like he’s going to float away and neither of them can stop smiling.

Griffin barely makes it in the door before he’s launching himself at Pat, nearly knocking him over, choked up and relieved all at once. They squeeze each other so hard it hurts, but they only squeeze harder. Shoulders muffle half-intelligible exclamations of excitement and Pat’s hands are shaking against Griffin’s back. He knew he had missed him, but he didn’t realize he missed him this fucking much. Griffin’s bag gets dropped to the floor and he pulls back just enough to kiss the white spot in Pat’s stubble, reaching behind himself to shut the door. Pat doesn’t let him pull away, walking him backwards and helping to shut the door, pushing Griffin up against it and locking it.

Griffin looks up at Pat and the jubilation of reunion shifts quickly as Pat presses close, ghosting his hands down Griffin’s sides. The look in Pat’s eyes makes him gulp loudly, he feels like he’s about to be eaten, and as Pat leans down to finally kiss him, Griffin is moaning before their mouths even meet, spearing his hands into Pat’s hair and rising up on his toes to press as much of himself up against Pat as possible.

Both their glasses are quickly off and clattering onto a bedside table and they try not to trip over each other as they are toeing off shoes and peeling off jackets and tugging at waistbands, all the while trying to devour each other. They’re both barechested and Pat has fished Griffin’s cock out of his jeans when Griffin starts to get annoyed that Pat is wearing tights–they had been comfortable for the train ride–and pushes him back against the bed, pulling them off his long legs and looks over his unwrapped prize. There’s a little more muscle tone than before, but still the same long, slender, pale body he is so very familiar with, and he stares for a moment, not sure what part he wants to touch first.

Pat feels self-conscious for half a second, but it’s _Griffin_ , who has kissed him everywhere a thousand times over and never misses an opportunity to tell him how much he loves his body, now being no exception. Griffin growls out “you fuckin’ sexy beast”, a sideways grin on his mouth as he straddles Pat’s lap and starts to bite and suck a trail down Pat’s neck. Pat can tell he’s going to be covered in bruises by the time he gets back to LA, but he’d be disappointed if he wasn’t.

When Griffin starts to bite too hard, Pat yanks his head back up and kisses his mouth again, squeezing Griffin’s hips when he starts to suck at his tongue. It had been an odd sensation the first few times Griffin had done it, but by now Pat knows it means Griffin’s about to suck his soul out through his dick and he’s moaning and shaking. Griffin makes fast work down Pat’s body, sinking down on his knees between Pat’s legs, kissing and licking a sloppy path over his stomach, wrapping his hand firmly around Pat’s cock and starting to stroke, slow.

Pat lets out a shout, the first touch always feels like a bolt of electricity up through his core, and then yelps when Griffin bites down hard on the inside of his right thigh. He wants to beg, but only whimpers and squirms as Griffin leaves dark purple marks on his inner thighs, rewarded for his patience when Griffin finally sucks the head of his dick past his lips, and then swallows all of it, gagging slightly but not pulling back. Pat lets out a loud moan, bowing up off the mattress and clutching the over-washed sheets. He knows the likelihood of lasting more than a minute is slim but he doesn’t tell Griffin to stop. At this point, he can’t, practically sobbing as Griffin sucks him expertly, slobbering over him, pulling back to spit onto the crown and curling his tongue around the underside of the glans.

When Griffin starts to bob his head again, Pat reaches down and grabs his free hand, telling him to stop a little too loudly, panting and flushed. Reluctantly, Griffin sits back, gently raking his blunt nails over the top of Pat’s thighs. Pat gets up on shaky legs and grabs Griffin by the face, kissing him roughly and shoving him back on the bed, tugging at his jeans and helping him wriggle out of them. Griffin sits up and awkwardly drapes his arm over his stomach. “I, uh… I’ve put on some weight.” He had been stress-eating a lot this semester and didn’t have Pat to encourage him to work out.

The fog of lust lifts briefly and Pat’s face softens, crawling onto the bed and laying himself out over Griffin, resting his weight against him, squeezing his soft sides. “I don’t care, baby. You look so good.” Griffin blushes and wraps his arms around Pat’s slim waist, rutting up against him as they kiss. Pat works over to Griffin’s ear and has him shuddering, nibbling the lobe and whispering in a low grumble, “can I fuck you?”

Griffin huffs out a sigh and bucks underneath him, his cock rubbing against Pat’s hip. “Oh my fucking god, yes yes yes yes, _please!_ ”

Griffin doesn’t know where in the hell Pat gets it from, but suddenly there’s a glove and lube and Pat is slowly working him open while kissing his neck and Griffin is in absolute heaven. He’s more than happy to top, Pat is usually the more passive of the two of them–it’s hard not to be with a boisterous personality like Griffin’s–but when Pat takes the reigns, Griffin soaks it up like a spoiled brat.

Even top dollar toys can’t beat human touch for Griffin. He whines and wriggles, biting Pat’s shoulder as he’s grinding his hips back against the fingers Pat has buried to the last knuckle inside him. He knows he’s thoroughly prepped, but Pat keeps fingering him, leaving gentle love bites across Griffin’s chest. Griffin whimpers, gripping onto Pat’s shoulders and stuck between begging for Pat to get to it already or continue to suffer deliciously like this. Before he can make up his mind, Pat shifts, pulling the glove off and inside out, tossing it on the floor, and presses the slick head of his cock against Griffin, slowly sliding in.

Griffin’s fingers digs into Pat’s biceps and his body resists for a moment, but Pat persists very gently, leaning down to kiss him, and Griffin relaxes, his hands sliding around to Pat’s back and holding him close. The frantic passion from before fizzles for a moment, Griffin’s ankles crossing at the small of Pat’s back and Pat’s hips working in slow, deep circles, kissing each other even slower. Pat pulls back and Griffin pushes his hair away from his face. They stare at each other, nose-to-nose, only able to see each other clearly like this without glasses. Pat kisses Griffin just under his eye and whispers that he loves him, his hips angling as he leans up, pushing flush against Griffin, and the moan that leaves Griffin ripples through Pat, breathing onto the embers of lust and reigniting them.

Resting his weight on his knuckles, Pat begins to move, short, deep thrusts at first, and then faster, rougher. Griffin runs his hands up and down Pat’s arms, over his chest, squeezing and sighing and whining, rocking his hips up into the thrusts and squeezing his chubby thighs around Pat’s narrow waist. Topping isn’t something Pat often feels inclined towards, but when the mood strikes him, his natural empathy makes him something of a god in Griffin’s book. He never has to ask for _faster_ or _more_ or _right there_ , Pat intuitively reads his pleasure and translates it before Griffin can even prompt him, leaving him a drooling, writhing mess, a broken record of moans and shouts, full-on yelling when Pat starts to suck a spot raw on the side of his throat, but Griffin only tilts his head to encourage him, yanking Pat down by the small of his back to help rut his aching cock against Pat’s stomach while he fucks him.

When Pat’s hips jerk and hit just the right spot a little too hard, Griffin jolts, rasping out “ _oh shit_ ”, and Pat stops, looking down at him. 

“Don’t, uh, don’t say that… right now.”

Griffin opens his eyes which had been squeezed shut and registers what Pat had said, letting out a loud, sudden laugh. His body tenses with it and squeezes around Pat, making Pat groan and grind towards Griffin, who makes a mental note of the request and tugs Pat down to kiss, needing very little prodding to get Pat back to the pace he had set before.

The bed is making loud clacks and creaks as they both start to unravel. Griffin doesn’t think he’s ever been fucked so hard in his life and he white-knuckles the sheets and Pat’s fingers squeeze bruisingly into his hips. Griffin’s own orgasm takes him by surprise, surging up suddenly when Pat changes angles just the tiniest bit, and the pulsing tightness around him has Pat doubled over, crying out in Griffin’s ear as he rides it out, slamming in one last time and staying there, shuddering, before he slowly melts and is a limp doll draped on top of Griffin.

The weight of him is so comforting and Griffin hums, feeling drunk, stroking Pat’s back and hair and peppering little kisses over his brow. Pat is winded and sweating and Griffin coos to him, Pat nuzzling against Griffin’s shoulder and muttering back. If love is just a cocktail of chemicals and neurotransmitters, they both prefer each other’s stimuli the most.

They stay this way for several minutes until Pat finally slips out and helps pull Griffin to his feet, his legs shaking. They clean each other up with damp washcloths, leaving little kisses over dark bites and bruises, and start to wonder about what they should do for dinner. It feels so normal, they could be at home now, they could have never been apart. It feels so natural to be with one another.

Somewhere during their indecisiveness about Chinese or pizza, playful bickering becomes kisses and kisses turn into Griffin riding Pat so hard the headboard smacks against the wall in time to Griffin’s dick slapping onto Pat’s stomach. They’re starving by the time they finish the second round and finally decide on pizza, sharing a shower while they wait for the delivery.

Griffin answers the door in a towel and they eat dinner naked, talking about school and the small projects Pat has been working on for his game design classes. Griffin has seen some of the animations and concepts, but Pat won’t show him anything major until he’s certain it’s perfect. Griffin is fine with that, he can wait. He’s sure it will be amazing.

After they’ve eaten, Griffin pulls back on his clothes and gets the rest of his things from the car, mostly extra pillows and blankets, and Pat nearly weeps when he smells them, gathering one of the blankets under his nose and smelling their apartment. “Oh fuck, I just got really homesick… and there’s Cecil fur on here!” His throat tightens and Griffin chuckles softly at him, kissing his temple.

“You take that one back with you, then.” They snuggle up under it and talk idly about what they might want to do tomorrow, resolving that if they stay in bed all day, it won’t be a loss, whatsoever. They’re sure Albuquerque is a fine city, but being together is the only goal.

Joking about staying in bed turns into sixty-nining. When they realize it’s almost midnight, they are sated and tired and, just as he had imagined on the train that morning, Pat gets to fall asleep cupped against Griffin’s back, nose pressed just behind Griffin’s ear, holding onto the man he loves.

They sleep late and wake up kissing lazily and jerk each other off before dozing for another hour. When they’re finally awake, properly, they have cold pizza for a late breakfast and decide to go try their luck at mini golf. Griffin had seen an obnoxiously bright-colored course on the drive in and Pat thinks that sounds like fun, because he knows neither of them will be very good at it.

They layer up–the high desert is much colder than they had anticipated and the wind chills to the bone–before taking Griffin’s car across town. The homesickness Pat had gotten from the blanket bubbles up again, manifesting as a tight feeling in his throat, thinking about midnight runs for ice cream, drives out into the country to watch meteor showers, getting picked up from work on rainy days… The little air freshener clipped to the air conditioner vents smells just like he remembers, the heater rattles somewhere in the dash just like it always has… he’d told Griffin he had loved him for the first time sitting right here in the passenger seat while they’d been parked outside the apartment, waiting for the pouring rain to let up long enough to go inside.

For the first time since Griffin had arrived last night, Pat thinks about how tomorrow, they will leave in different directions, and they aren’t sure yet when they will see each other again. He reaches across the cup holders and puts his hand on Griffin’s thigh, and Griffin reaches down to hold his hand.

They have the mini golf course all to themselves. It’s nearly freezing and gusty, but Griffin had bought a flask of spiced rum and smuggled it in, and they sneak sips from it to keep warm. They stop every hole to take pictures with the sculptures around the course, and a few shots together, good and tipsy by the end with their glasses fogging up and fingertips numb. They don’t know who won, they hadn’t bothered to keep track, but Griffin’s pretty sure somehow it’s neither of them.

They feed the parking meter and walk around to sober up, finding a small Mediterranean restaurant to have dinner. It’s cozy and warm inside and the waitress brings them some hot mint tea as they’re shedding scarves and hats and jackets. Griffin reaches across the table and rubs Pat’s hand absentmindedly as he looks over the menu and Pat lifts his forefinger to rub at the underside of Griffin’s wrist.

When their appetizer arrives, Griffin checks his phone and nearly drops it, staring at the message in disbelief. Pat licks hummus off his thumb, leaning in as if he could see the screen from here. “What’s up?”

Griffin stutters for a moment. “So um… Justin wants to fly you out to Austin next month, so you can drive home with me for the holidays. He says that’ll be his gift to me from him and Syd.” His ears are ringing he’s so surprised by the generous offer. Pat looks ready to burst, and the booze doesn’t help.

“ **Really?!** ” The few other people turn to glare at them and Pat cowers in his seat, embarrassed. “Seriously, though?” A stage whisper this time.

“Yeah, for real. Holy shit.” Griffin is still staring at the phone, like he’s misread the text somehow. He is both ecstatic and terrified of the prospect. Having Pat home was all he could ask for, and he really did want his brothers to meet his boyfriend, but taking Pat home with him to meet his family also meant coming out to his dad, which still made him too anxious to even think about for extended periods of time. Not that he thought it would go horribly! But the small chance that it might kept him from biting the bullet.

Pat’s hand squeezes his knee under the table. “I’ll figure it out, I’ll take off work somehow, even if I have to quit. Tell him yes, and tell him thank you about a thousand times from me.”

Griffin sputters again and finally nods, quickly texting Justin back. Maybe that’s the best way to do it. Have Pat there, with his brothers there to support him. Even if it goes to shit, he can always stay with Justin and Sydnee instead of sleeping in his old room like he usually does. Pat comments that he’ll finally get to meet Griffin’s family, but diverts from that subject when he sees Griffin’s eyes glaze over, asking instead for Griffin to tell him about all the things in Huntington they might see together.

Justin texts to ask what dates Pat will be out of school between semesters and by the end of dinner, Pat has a flight booked for mid-December, with a return flight at the end of the first week of January. The grey cloud Pat had felt thinking about having to leave Griffin again disperses, knowing now he’ll see him in a month, and this time, they’ll be sleeping in _their_ bed, _their_ apartment, for nearly three whole weeks.

Sober now, glaringly so, Griffin walks back to the car after dinner trying to tell his mind to shut the hell up about the what-ifs of coming out. He can worry when he’s back in Texas, right now he wants to enjoy the time he has with Pat because he knows a month will feel much longer than it seems at the moment. When he gets to the car, he opens the door for Pat, an old habit that makes Pat feel the butterflies he’d collected when they first started flirting and dating swarm up. He kisses Griffin’s cheek as he gets in and buckles up.

The sun is nearly under the horizon by the time they make it back to their hotel room and Pat suggests they drive out away from the city lights and watch the stars. Griffin can’t think of a better way to spend the evening and grabs the blankets, taking them out to the car. They drive west, stopping at a gas station to get some hot chocolate, and cruise along highways, then back roads, and finally onto a dirt path between barren cattle pastures, pulling off and cutting the engine. It’s cold as hell, below freezing now, but there’s not much wind and the sky is crystal clear.

They climb up onto the warm hood and lay back against the windshield, wrapped in blankets and sipping cocoa. It takes a moment, but when their eyes adjust, they are both amazed at how bright the outer arm of their galaxy is, a white smudge against the sky, with glittering stars tossed through and around, more abundant than either of them had ever seen. They sit in awe and comfortable silence, shoulder to shoulder and watching the sky turn slowly above them.

Griffin has his head on Pat’s shoulder, feeling sleepy, when Pat jolts him back to alertness, hand shooting out from under the blanket and pointing up at the sky as the streak of a meteor flashes and then fades. “Make a wish, babe!”

Griffin looks at Pat and smiles, kissing his jaw. “I can’t feel my fingers, maybe we should head back?” Pat asks for a few minutes more and Griffin obliges, snuggling for warmth. The amber points of the waxing moon’s crescent jut into a mesa in the distance and they wait to watch it sink into the horizon, coloring to a dark honey-orange, before finally getting back into the car, numb and shivering, but not complaining. Griffin lets the engine warm up for a while before turning the headlights on and retracing his route back towards civilization.

As they get back on the main highway towards city lights, Griffin turns the heater down a little to speak over its rattle. “Babe… what do you think about marriage?”

Pat almost chokes on his own spit. “Huh?”

Griffin realizes how that came out and laughs nervously. “Sorry, I just mean… We’ve never really talked about where we both think this is going, you know? I feel like we’re probably on the same page? But we’ve never really discussed it.”

Pat sits for a minute, thinking. “I honestly don’t know how I feel about marriage. Like, in general. It seems redundant to me. If I’m with you, and I plan on choosing to stay with you and make it work indefinitely, how is that different from being married? I guess I get having a wedding, but it’s just not something I really… want?”

“You don’t want a long-term commitment?” Griffin tries not to sound hurt.

“No!” Pat quickly explains himself to get rid of the waves of bad energy rolling off Griffin. “I love the idea of being with someone forever. The marriage part, like the whole ceremony and everything, that’s what I don’t get. It just doesn’t appeal to me. I can be your partner for the rest of my life and being your husband doesn’t make me any more committed to you. Does that make sense?” He hopes he is explaining things right. Griffin seems to relax.

“I guess that’s what I actually mean. Like, partnership. For the long haul, y’know?” A car passes and Pat can see that Griffin’s brow is furrowed. “Is that… is that us?”

Pat feels his heart ache and he turns in his seat, reaching to rub Griffin’s arm. “Yeah. Yeah, baby, of course that’s us.” He leans across the console and kisses Griffin’s shoulder. “I can’t imagine my future without you, and I don’t want to. I want to make this work for as long as it will last.” Griffin reaches for his hand and rubs a thumb across his knuckles. “Is that… what _you_ want?”

“Yeah… yeah, babe, that’s exactly what I want.” He can tell now that Griffin is choked up and smiles when Griffin takes his hand and kisses the back of it. They say nothing the rest of the drive and Pat notices that Griffin is trying not to smile as they’re getting back into the hotel room. He had thought surely Griffin knew that Pat wasn’t going anywhere, that if this had been anything but serious he would have broken it off when he had left for California, but he supposes it’s probably nice to hear it in plain words.

They finish off the rum and makeout on the bed with the TV on the background for over an hour until Griffin turns off the television and the lights, feeling his way back to the bed and stretching himself out over Pat. They make love in the dark and Pat cries, holding onto Griffin for dear life and relishing in how good and warm and _safe_ it feels to be under his weight, squeezing handfuls of his soft sides and kissing him blindly.

Griffin is already awake when Pat gets up, and Pat can tell he’s been awake for a while and isn’t in a good headspace. He nuzzles against him and asks what’s wrong, but Griffin doesn’t say much, just that he doesn’t want Pat to go. They take turns showering and pack, checking out of the room with a couple hours to spare before Pat’s train leaves. They drive through downtown just to see it and stop for lunch and Griffin is still very clearly bummed out. Pat doesn’t know what to say. He feels the same way.

When it is finally time to head to the station, Griffin helps Pat get his bags out of the car and adds another, stuffing the blanket from home in a reusable shopping bag from his trunk and adding his care package for the month on top of it, handing it over. “I figured, why spend money on shipping?” Pat grins, knowing he’s going to probably eat a whole loaf of rosemary bread on the train like an animal.

Griffin walks with Pat to the platform and they hug goodbye. When they pull away, Griffin is crying, and Pat hasn’t seen him actually shed tears ever, aside from Griffin talking about losing his mom. Pat brushes them away and fights back some of his own. Griffin leans up and kisses him, holding him close. “I love you so much, Patrick.”

Pat chokes on a sob and smiles, squeezing Griffin to him. “I know, baby, thank you. I love you, too.”

They stand on the platform, embracing, for as long as they can before Pat needs to board. He kisses Griffin one last time and Griffin stands on the platform, crying quietly, until the train leaves the station. When he gets to his car, he finally breaks down, and can’t explain why. There are too many emotions to wade through, so he lets himself sob it out, slumped over the steering wheel with the car turned off.

When he’s finally good and done, he dries his eyes and blows his nose and turns the car on, blasting the heater. The air flow rustles a piece of paper near the gear shift and he picks it up, laughing at Pat being sneaky, leaving a note.

_I love you more than I have words to say and I can’t wait to hold you again._

_Yours always,_  
_Pat_

Griffin breaks down again, but when he’s finished he feels a little lighter, more clear headed. He tucks the note into his wallet and pulls out of the parking lot, heading for home with the nagging feeling that he’s leaving it behind.


	6. Chapter 6

The moment Griffin gets back to Austin, everything goes to shit. He arrives to discover the apartment above his has flooded and there is evidence of maintenance men having tracked through his kitchen without any phone call beforehand to let him know what was going on, and Cecil is crying, locked away in the bathroom, presumably forgotten after they had left. It takes a few days before everything is fixed, and Griffin has to clean up after them himself, spending a whole afternoon scrubbing up muddy boot prints and drywall dust to get everything back into order. The kitchen is one of the few places he can not stand to be dirty. It has to be clean, _has_ to be.

Cody is home during the few days the repairs are being done and the apartment feels like it’s too noisy, too full of energy. Griffin can’t focus on anything and feels anxious about being in his own living room with so many strangers in the small space, and after it’s all clean and Cody is gone again to wherever the hell he goes, it’s Black Friday, and Griffin works from open to close.

He’s been working retail since he was fifteen and knows how to cover up his anxiety fairly well, having crafted a very believable Customer Service Persona that acts like a buffer between customers and his real, raw, human self. Sometimes the Persona is stronger, sometimes it is just a gossamer veil between his outward smile and the inner urge to fall to the floor screaming madly.

At some point in the early evening, Griffin’s psychological armor has been worn so thin by the onslaught of people that when he is yelled at for the dozenth time by some inconsiderate person who takes their frustrations out on him for things he cannot control, his armor cracks completely. With the last bit of self-discipline he has, he blurts out shakily, “I’m so sorry about that, let me take a look into this issue for you,” and makes it into the manager’s office before he crumples, vision going blurry and blood pressure sky high. He’s had full blown panic attacks before, but he’s never had them in a situation where he can’t just get away. Anywhere else, he can just leave, but at some point, he has to pull himself back together and go deal with more customers, maybe even face the same customer without having resolved their issue.

He puts his head between his knees, presses his brow to the cold tile floor, and uses every ounce of psychic strength he has left in him to breathe slowly, calmly, deeply. He collects himself enough to get off the floor and flop into the desk chair, pulling out his phone for some emergency cat videos. Waiting to be opened is a Snap from Pat, and Griffin plays it, sighing out a laugh at Pat trying to get a selfie with his roommate’s dog–Prajit’s family had invited Pat to spend Thanksgiving with them in Long Beach–and being enthusiastically licked in the face, instead.

Griffin replayed it and sagged in the chair, feeling like a breath of fresh air had passed through his whole body. He opened a text to Pat.

_youre a literal life-saver, bud. love you._

He’d thought about typing out _i’m coming down from a really bad panic attack and i’ve been yelled at all fucking day and all i need is you to keep me fucking sane and i’m so fucking thankful i have you in my life_ , but that seemed like far too much typing at the moment.

**I love you, too. Bad day? :c**

_very. i still have to open tomorrow, too. i just wanna get very, very drunk._

**I’m sorry, babe. I wish there was something I could do. Be strong.**

_you already have. gotta get back._

Somehow, he makes it through the rest of the day, fragile and exhausted but alive and still employed, and he even gets to work on time the next morning without being a complete mess. However, stress is cumulative for Griffin, and a panic attack especially leaves him wrecked for days. He needs real recovery time, and with the holiday season increasing stress at work and finals coming up, he is constantly on edge, ready to fly apart, and simultaneously drained of energy and buzzing with a nervous excess of it.

In such conditions, Griffin writes. Prolifically. It is a good barometer of how well he is managing his anxiety by how often fic-archive.org user StellarVoyage is posting. His works are a hodgepodge of traditional fanfiction and original characters placed in the worlds of popular fictional universes, predominantly scifi and fantasy, with a few works that are entirely original. The pieces range from short stories that were barely more than brief concepts to longer, nearly novel length works.

It is his guilty pleasure and when Pat had found out about it, Griffin had seemed almost embarrassed. He doesn’t share his writing with anyone in his real life, StellarVoyage is an anonymous name he gets to put his work out into the world under and not have any of the hang-ups of personal value attached to it. If the piece is bad, then it that’s all there is to it, a bad piece of writing, kept compartmentalized to this one tiny piece of his digital life. He writes because it is therapeutic and he enjoys it, and he posts it so that it doesn’t just die somewhere in a folder on his laptop. A few of his works in larger fandoms have gained some traction, but for the most part, he has only a handful of readers and other authors he interacts with as his alias, and he is perfectly content with that.

After Pat figured out his little secret, Griffin had reluctantly told him where he could find his writing, but begged that Pat never talk about it with him, especially if he didn’t like it. He doesn’t even want to know Pat has read any of his work, something about the knowledge that his boyfriend is reading his pornographic fanfic makes him hesitant to write freely, so Pat had agreed, and they haven’t spoken about it since. When Griffin spends hours at a time typing through his stress, Pat simply makes him plenty of strong coffee and plays video games in the next room.

At first, Pat resists the urge to read any of Griffin’s stories. He feels bad for badgering Griffin into telling him his secret and resolves to not make use of this new information, but after a few months, he becomes curious.

The first few fics are odd to read, Pat has never read fanfiction before and he can’t let go of the thought that this is his boyfriend’s writing. The older stuff reads like high school angst (because it was), but after Pat has acclimated himself to Griffin’s writing, he finds he actually… really likes it. The newer works have a nuanced maturity to them, and, no surprise to Pat, his way with words does not go to waste. The descriptions are palpable, the metaphors are clever and concise. Pat feels like he gets to know little bits of Griffin better through his secret hobby.

After some time, he starts reading the comments, as well. Griffin’s replies are usually restricted to thanking readers and talking a little about character motivations or inspiration, but there are also long threads of whole conversations about the source material and fan theories and occasionally about life, in general. Griffin never gives details or even his name, but he still opens up to these people, who only know him through this one narrow slice of his personality. Pat finds it fascinating. It is through reading the comments that he discovers Griffin’s archive-locked pieces, mostly his original writing that he keeps accessible only to other members of the site.

Members had to be invited by existing members, and it took calling in a favor from a Twitter follower, but two weeks later, Pat is signing in as AndromedaCalamity and, feeling like he is breaking a promise, posting his first of many comments on Griffin’s work.

He makes his way through the backlog of stories over several months, liking and bookmarking other fics in the same fandoms just to make his account look less suspicious. He likes being able to praise Griffin anonymously for his work and get some little insights here and there. Griffin processes grief in his writing, heartbreak, fear… there were elements that Pat could tag as being about certain real life events that Griffin never blatantly shares in the comments, but having these new perspectives to view him with is illuminating.

For the last several weeks, Griffin has been plowing through an original work, posting every few days in massive chunks of story. Pat worries, but if this is how Griffin copes, it is at least a healthy method, the spoils of which Pat enjoys. The new story is about a group of friends that get hired on with a traveling carnival for a party-filled summer, and focuses on one of the friends, Lucas, and his dangerous affair with the carnival’s magician, who, unbeknownst to all but the reader, is a serial killer.

The sex scenes in particular feel like exhibitionism to Pat, who recognizes his boyfriend’s sexual tastes rather obviously in the works. There’s something tantalizing about reading graphic erotic scenes his own lover has pieced together, through a lens of personal experience that Pat has shared a good deal in. The sex in this new story is just as violent as it is arousing, and with Griffin’s bite marks still on his inner thighs and bruises on his neck, Pat finds himself anticipating the new updates more than usual.

When the email alert about a new chapter comes late on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, Pat is in bed with a hot mug of tea, by himself in the dorm. He immediately closes out of the movie he had been watching and goes to read the new installment. He can tell Griffin’s work-related rage has fueled most of it–there is a detailed and extensive murder scene–and he hopes Griffin is okay. He can’t ask just yet, he doesn’t want to risk Griffin connecting the dots and realizing Pat is avidly reading everything he publishes, but he hopes like hell that getting it out in writing helps Griffin purge all the negative energy. He’s seen Griffin during a panic attack, and the irritable, sullen husk afterwards is almost worse.

Finishing the chapter, Pat fills up the comment box and hits post. He knows Griffin stakes out and waits for the early readers and will usually reply quickly.

 **AndromedaCalamity commented:** I’m a little squeamish for the gore, but the way you describe viscera feels poetic rather than clinical. It’s a nice touch, especially since the scene is from Rory’s point of view. I still love the little in-jokes with the reader, too, Rory making puns about murder right out in front of everyone, but we’re the only ones with the context to get the joke. I feel sorry for Lucas, though. They seem to have a genuine connection at this point, but… I’m pretty sure things aren’t going to end well for him. Great update as always.

 **StellarVoyage replied:** LOL, thanks. I honestly don’t usually go for gore, but something about this character makes it weirdly fun. I’m going for a kind of b-movie slasher feel, I hope that comes across. As for Lucas, I hadn’t intended for he and Rory to actually get affectionate. The tenderness was a surprise as I’ve dug deeper into this fic, and I think it’s because I unintentionally based a lot of Lucas off my boyfriend, haha.

 **AndromedaCalamity replied:** The campiness definitely comes across, I might be worried about you if it didn’t! Hahaha. I find the softness between Lucas and Rory to be way more intriguing than when they were just hooking up. Knowing what we know about Rory, it’s really bittersweet and adds more suspense. I’m looking forward to seeing how it develops from here.

 **StellarVoyage replied:** I thought so, too. I almost cut that kiss outside the tent, but then I realized how much scarier it feels that Lucas actually trusts him now, thinks there’s some softer side to him only he gets to see. I’m not sure how much I’ll be posting through the rest of the year, tbh. My boyfriend’s coming home over break! Between that and going to see my family for the holidays, it’s doubtful there will be another update until after the new year.

 **AndromedaCalamity replied:** No worries, I can be patient. I hope you have a good visit with him.

 **StellarVoyage replied:** Thanks, I’m really excited to have him home :))))))))

Pat grins, still feeling a little sneaky about these exchanges, and goes back to his movie, texting Griffin after it’s over.

_Are you in bed yet, mister? It’s late, I’m about to go to sleep._

Griffin is usually the first to send good night texts, being in an earlier time zone.

**in bed, not quite asleep. thinkin about you ;)**

_Maybe tomorrow we can Skype? ;) Get some rest. You’ve earned it._

**i think i’m gonna smoke a bowl, i feel like i need to be recalibrated…**

_That sounds like a really good idea, actually. Sweet dreams, sweet boy._

**night, baby**

Pat feels better knowing Griffin seems calmer, a little more himself. His texts for the last few days have been sparse and distant. This feels much more like normal Griffin. Relieved, he turns off his lamp and settles into his pillows. He thinks about sleeping for a long while, but finally gives up and obliges a different urge.

Grabbing his phone, he pulls up Griffin’s story, scrolls to his favorite sex scenes, and jerks off. It’s like tailor-made porn and he’s done this more than once. Knowing the steamy encounters are written by Griffin only make them that much more erotic for him. He cleans himself up in the dark and laughs, wondering what Griffin would think if he only knew. Maybe one day Pat will finally come clean, but for now, it will stay his little secret.


	7. Chapter 7

Three days before Pat’s flight back to Austin, they get in a fight. They have argued over the course of their relationship as anyone does, but this is one of few ragers. Pat calls Griffin drunk after a party celebrating the end of the semester that some of the other game design majors had invited him to. He’s slurring and laughing at the story, a friend he’s shared several classes with had read signals wrong and kissed him. Pat thinks it’s funny. Griffin, still on edge and worn ragged with finishing the semester, sees red.

They scream at each other, hang up in the middle of sentences, call back to scream some more. Griffin’s usually dormant insecurity possesses him, flaring up jealousy in him that he’s ashamed of even being capable of harboring once he’s on the other side of it and seeing it for what it is. He’s angry he has never heard of this guy that Pat has apparently spent enough time with and been friendly enough with that a kiss seemed appropriate. Pat is furious and hurt that Griffin would ever for a moment suspect he would be unfaithful. They’re both plagued with the same thought– _he doesn’t trust me_ –and as the adrenaline sobers Pat up, his anger withers, and he’s left feeling self-loathing and upset.

In a very calm and tired voice, he finally tells Griffin he doesn’t have anything else to say about it, and turns off his phone.

They don’t speak for a full day. Griffin realizes he probably couldn’t have reacted worse and gives Pat some space. He eats his feelings through most of the day and finds that if he’s honest with himself, he’s still angry Pat hadn’t mentioned hanging out with other queer men. He doesn’t know why it bothers him, the logical side of his brain understands that it’s possessive, garbage behavior, but being apart has given his mind lots of time to wonder if there’s someone, or lots of someones, out there better for Pat than him. LA is full of creative, progressive, attractive men, guys that are actually there, unlike Griffin, who is only a facsimile over digital channels for now.

He spends a good long while slogging through his doubt and self-pity, letting himself be sad and angry about things that probably aren’t even happening. Pat’s probably realizing how lame Griffin is, he’s probably so much happier not living with a neurotic, pudgy, average-looking geek and coming to his senses. He’s probably already made up his mind that he’s done with Griffin and feeling relieved at last to not be chained to someone halfway across the country that gets jealous about a drunken misunderstanding and freaks out if pans in the kitchen don’t get put back exactly where they came from or a box of cereal gets left out on the table.

Griffin is taking a pan of pity-brownies out of the oven when Pat finally texts him.

**Are you still picking me up Tuesday or should I plan on taking a cab?**

Griffin wants to punch himself in the mouth.

_of course i’m coming_

It’s the only correspondence for the whole day and Griffin opens his texts at least a dozen times, types out an apology, deletes it, puts down his phone. Things feel a little less hostile in the morning when Pat texts him a picture of he and Prajit’s empty dorm, and then a garage full of boxes and storage bins a few hours later. They are sharing a dorm again next semester but have to vacate during the break, and Prajit’s family has been kind enough to let him store his things there while he’s gone. Griffin still doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say.

_you’re staying in long beach tonite, right?_

**Yeah. Don’t worry, Praj is straight. :P**

Griffin has a feeling this is Pat’s way of trying to lighten the mood and move past it, but he can’t help but wonder if it’s a jab, unsure how to take it. He doesn’t reply and they don’t text each other good night.

Driving to the airport, he feels like he wants to shut down. His stress-eating means his winter clothes don’t fit him the way they should and the traffic is a clusterfuck and he’s so uncertain how the energy between him and Pat will feel when they see each other that he’s on the verge of a panic attack, sweaty palms wringing the steering wheel. When he parks in the airport’s garage, he has to sit for a moment and collect himself, afraid that if he doesn’t, walking into a crowded space will push him over the edge.

He has to keep to the edges of the crowd, skirting along the wall instead of walking across the large atrium. He makes his way to the baggage claim with Pat’s flight number assigned to it and practically hides behind a large potted plant, hands stuffed into his pockets, jingling his keys nervously. Pat’s flight had landed just before Griffin had arrived and he knows it could still be awhile before he’s off the plane and out of the terminal.

The baggage claim starts to get crowded and Griffin’s throat is dry. He wonders if it will be too shitty, if Pat will understand, if he goes back to the car and has Pat meet him there, instead, but then he recognizes a familiar long-legged gait, the self-consciously rounded shoulders, and the moment Pat looks up and sees him, too, Griffin feels like a plug is pulled somewhere in him and all the heavy, sloshing darkness drains out of him in a rush.

It leaves him feeling a little light headed and he steps out from behind the plant. Pat starts to jog and a relieved laugh clears Griffin’s tight lungs. He throws his arms around Pat and buries his face in his neck, breathing him in. “I’m so fucking sorry I’ve been such an ass.” It’s muffled and all in a rush, but Pat squeezes him and shakes his head.

“It’s okay. I missed you, too.” Pat kisses him for a drawn out moment until Griffin’s scrunched forehead relaxes and he sighs through his nose. They stand in everyone’s way with arms looped around each other until there are only a few bags left on the carousel. Griffin pulls away at last and kisses Pat again before taking his hand and grabbing Pat’s bag for him, heading out to the car.

The drive home is pleasant, the air between them feels cleared, and Pat is full of coffee and stories about a very eccentric, very intoxicated older woman on the flight. He is still relaying some of the details when they enter the apartment, and when Cecil hears his voice, his head lifts, and he bolts to the door, meowing loudly and rubbing against Pat’s legs.

Pat stops mid-sentence and scoops Cecil up, kissing his head and nuzzling his face into the soft, striped fur. “My little feline child! I missed you so much!” Griffin carries Pat’s bags to their bedroom and Pat flops down on the couch with Cecil, who is frantically scent-marking his cheeks against Pat’s chin, tail swishing excitedly. “You’re gonna make me cry, holy shit!”

Griffin sits down next to him and rubs Cecil’s back foot. “When you first left, he would make laps around the apartment like he was looking for you and then sit at the front door and meow.”

Pat lets out a quiet, comical wail and hugs Cecil until the cat decides he’s had quite enough reuniting and leaps down, climbing to the back of the couch to stretch out. Pat leans back against the cushions and looks around the dim apartment, surrounded by a comforting sense of familiarity. Griffin wets his lips and sits with his mouth open for a moment before he finally makes himself speak.

“Pat, I’m… I’m sorry I acted like such a tool. I–”

Pat puts up a hand, closing his eyes with a sigh. “Not now. We can talk about it later? But please, just…” He reaches out and takes Griffin’s hand, squeezing his fingers. “Not right now, okay?”

Griffin nods and hesitates for a breath before he leans in and kisses Pat, reaching over to brace himself against the arm of the couch. Pat sinks further into the cushions and tugs gently at the front of Griffin’s sweater until they’re laying down with Pat under him, hands tucked into Griffin’s back pockets. They kiss slow, Pat can tell Griffin is letting him lead on this, and Pat doesn’t rush into anything just yet.

After some time, he realizes Griffin’s arms are shaking and he’s trying to hold himself up instead of resting fully against Pat. He had done it when they had first started dating, too, and he had been at a similar weight and constantly nervous and uncomfortable about being too heavy to be on top. Pat presses his hands against Griffin’s shoulderblades and pulls him down. “Stop that.”

Griffin huffs and stops holding himself up, going limp over Pat. “I di’n’ realize I was doin’ it,” he mumbles into Pat’s shoulder, nuzzling up against him and kissing his neck. Pat hums as he is pressed down into the couch and rubs Griffin’s back in slow circles, shivering under the light kisses that move to the hollow of his throat. He lets Griffin lavish him for a bit before he snakes his hand in between them and puts two fingers to Griffin’s lips, then pushes them inside.

Griffin looks up at him, glasses crooked on his face, surprised, his tongue wrapping around Pat’s slim fingers and sucking at them experimentally. Pat rubs Griffin’s tongue and spreads his legs a little more so that Griffin fits between them more snugly. It’s a cheap ploy, but sex has always been a good distraction, a way to work through weird energy between them after a fight, and especially with the time apart, it’s hard to stay distant or angry.

Pat curls his fingers gently around the back of Griffin’s bottom teeth and tugs, thumb pressed up under his chin. “The roommate is definitely gone for a few days?” Griffin lets out a small _uh huh_. “We’ve got lube?” Griffin rolls his eyes.

“ _Yeah_ , babe,” he says around Pat’s fingers before they leave his mouth and Pat taps his cheek.

“Bed.”

It’s all Griffin needs to hear before he’s up and pulling Pat to his feet, tugging him by the wrist to the bedroom, neat and cozy and giving Pat a surge of nostalgia. He pulls off his jacket and sets his glasses on the dresser, stripping down nonchalantly as if he were going to take a shower. Griffin follows suit a little more hurriedly and is glad that there’s only a little light through the curtains. Pat reads his discomfort easily and pulls Griffin close once they’re bare, squeezing handfuls of Griffin’s sides, pressing up against his tummy as he cranes his neck down to kiss just behind his ear. When he feels the tension in Griffin’s shoulders relax, Pat moves to the bed and piles pillows up against the headboard, instructing Griffin to sit. It isn’t bossy, but he knows what he wants.

Griffin settles himself in the middle of the mattress and leans back against the pillows, watching Pat dig through the drawer to find the lube and a condom before crawling onto the bed and straddling Griffin’s lap. He pulls Griffin’s glasses off and sets them aside before holding up the lube and condom. “Do you wanna do it or do you wanna watch me do it?”

Griffin’s brain overheats for half a second, he does love watching Pat finger himself, but he takes both and opens the condom wrapper, pushing it down over his fingers. “I’ll do it.” He reaches one hand under to rub circles around Pat’s hole while the other starts to stroke his half-hard cock, Pat’s fingers carding through Griffin’s short hair as he kisses him, worming his tongue into Griffin’s mouth and along the back of his teeth.

When Griffin’s fingers slip inside, Pat sighs into his mouth, Griffin’s name leaving him in a shudder as his hips angle down, wanting more. Griffin lives for that, could never get enough of Pat saying his name like that, and does his best to pull it out of Pat several more times, stroking him and fingering him until he starts to suspect Pat might get off and leave him hanging as a means to get back about the fight, but Pat makes him stop before he’s too far gone, gasping for air and reaching back to feel Griffin hard as stone, sloppily kissing his chest as he shifts down a little. Griffin wraps the condom up in a tissue, drizzling lube over his dick while Pat jerks him off, coating the shaft before he rises up on his knees and pushes the head against himself and settles his weight over it minutely, testing the angle, letting just the tip push him open. He hisses through his teeth and Griffin holds onto Pat’s hips. Pat places his hands over Griffin’s wrists and in one slow, steady motion, lowers himself down over Griffin’s cock, full weight.

It takes him a moment to adjust, resting with his brow against Griffin’s, both their eyes shut, before Pat is blindly seeking out Griffin’s mouth and begins to move his hips, grinding at first, then up and down. He lets go of Griffin’s wrists and moves his hands to steady himself against Griffin’s chest, instead, fingers curling and clawing lightly and the skin. As he gets bolder, beginning to ride Griffin a little harder, his blunt nails rake down Griffin’s chest in angry lines and Griffin chokes on a shout, squeezing the tops of Pat’s thighs and bucking up into him.

Long, slender arms loop around Griffin’s neck and now it’s his turn to call out, sobbing out “ _Patrick_ ” in the most desperate voice Pat’s ever heard. He fucks himself onto Griffin’s lap harder and drinks it up, kissing him roughly. When he shifts, leaning back onto his hands and planting his feet into the mattress, Griffin sees the faded bruises from Albuquerque still on his inner thighs and almost cums right then.

Pat grinds down against him, hanging his head back and letting out a long, deep moan. Experimentally, Griffin reaches out and wraps his hand around the long, pale throat, applying no pressure, and Pat lets him leave it there, starting to move his hips up and down again, then in circles, affording a better range of motion from this position, and giving Griffin a perfect view of himself pushing up into Pat with each stroke.

Pat tries to drag it out, to make it last or to even tease, but his own body betrays him and Griffin feels so good. Before he knows it, Griffin is almost choking him out, his other hand on Pat’s hip to help thrust up into him as he’s wildly fucking himself down over Griffin’s cock, and when he cums, Pat’s sure he actually blacks out for the briefest moment, gasping for breath and leaving a mess of hot jizz nearly up to Griffin’s chin. He sags forward and half-heartedly rocks back into Griffin’s thrusts, blissed out and face tucked into the crook of Griffin’s shoulder, until Griffin is cursing through gritted teeth in his ear and filling him up.

They hold onto each other loosely and pant for quite a while before Pat collects himself and sits up, a sated, sloppy grin across his mouth, kissing Griffin sweetly as he lifts himself off Griffin’s lap, staggering to the bathroom to clean up. When he’s finished, Griffin trades places with him, kissing Pat’s cheek as he passes him into the bathroom. “There’s brownies in the kitchen.”

Pat walks naked through the apartment, pushing his sweaty hair back from his face, and comes back with the whole tupperware of sweets and half a bottle of chilled chardonnay he’d found in the fridge. Griffin is already back in bed, sprawled out and checking his phone, which he sets aside on the nightstand as Pat lays down next to him, pressing the cold glass bottle to his skin. Pat lays against Griffin’s side and washes a brownie down with some wine, thankful for brain chemistry for putting him in a very good post-orgasmic mood.

He offers a brownie to Griffin, who refuses. “I shouldn’t.” He pats his stomach as if that’s an answer. Pat sighs and rubs Griffin’s chubby belly lovingly.

“Post-coital baked goods are a tradition, c’mon.”

“I’m getting **fat**.” Griffin hates that the word comes out with such contempt, especially with how candid Justin has been with him about his body image and what it’s like to have always been overweight, but Griffin still holds onto standards for himself that he would never apply to anyone else. He doesn’t like how his body feels when he’s heavier, he doesn’t like that he puts on weight only when he’s not been taking care of himself.

Pat sits up to look at him and Griffin expects sternness, but Pat’s brown eyes are soft and caring. “You were about this weight when we started dating,” he offers, knowing part of Griffin’s hangup is feeling undesirable.

“Yeah, but then I lost it!” He takes a slug off the wine bottle and grimaces. He’s got to stop buying the cheap shit.

Pat is still rubbing his gut and squeezing his love handles, kissing his doughy chest. “Mmhmm, you did. And you’ve lost weight before and gained it back. You know that’s tough on your heart, right?”

Griffin feels a wave of frustration rise up in his throat. “Yeah, and so’s being fat.”

Pat shrugs, not fazed by Griffin’s tone. “Not necessarily. I’m just saying… it doesn’t make a difference to me. I love your body because that’s where Griffin lives. That won’t change. But maybe it’s a good idea to think about if you either want to trim back down, and really commit to keeping the weight off, or just… stop beating yourself up about it, and learn to feel comfortable heavier.”

Griffin is caught off guard by both the words and the calm, caring tone they’re delivered in. Damn if he isn’t going to steal a lot of that for the next time Justin is feeling down on himself. He hugs Pat to him, kissing the top of his head, and takes a brownie from the container.

Pat gives him a crooked smile. “See? Good, huh?”

Griffin’s teeth are coated in chocolate as he replies, “not as sweet as you!” around a mouthful of food.

Pat snorts and uncorks the wine, shaking his head. “Gross.”

They both laugh and Pat knows they’re still going to have to talk about the fight, and he still isn’t looking forward to it, but he knows now that even if it’s hard, it will be okay. He feels so at home and he hasn’t realized how displaced and lonely he’s been in Los Angeles, but this is where he feels like he belongs, and he knows that feeling has nothing to do with Austin. Not for the first time, he feels a secret echo of fear that this feeling will fade, but he ignores it. Maybe it will, but he’s not willing to sacrifice enjoying what he has while he has it to worry about when it will go away.

Riding the train back from Albuquerque, Pat had felt like he couldn’t last another six months like this, living on phone calls and tristes in hotels and love letters that only made the ache worse, and he still isn’t sure how he’ll do it, but he knows he’s going to. On the other side of this year apart is more of this–naked wine and chocolate in bed, Griffin’s awful puns and sloppy kisses, a bed that feels like a safe place from the rest of the world, and a man he trusts more than any other. It’s hard, being apart, but he’ll weather through it. He would choose Griffin every time.


	8. Chapter 8

Since leaving home, Pat has always had at least one job, and school. He can count on one hand the times over the last two and a half years that he has had more than two days off work in a row. The first week back home feels odd, like he’s forgetting something he’s supposed to be doing, but it’s such a luxury. He sleeps in and wears pajamas all day and lounges in bed with Cecil, watching whole seasons of shows in one sitting, sprawled out on the couch in his underwear, getting out all the old things he missed about living in his own apartment while he has the time to indulge. Griffin’s new roommate shows up for a night to sleep and pack for a trip and then is gone again, but for all intents and purposes, Pat has much of the week all to himself, and as much as he missed Griffin, he has also missed his moments of solitude.

Griffin works every day after Pat first arrives and Pat has dinner ready when he comes home. Twice, it’s take out, but the gesture is nice. Griffin appreciates it and realizes this is a large part of what he had been missing; having Pat there to lean on and share his life with, having someone that looked out for him. A few times over the semester apart, Pat would send Griffin flowers or food deliveries when he was feeling down, but it isn’t quite the same. He does his best to savor it now and tell himself they’ll have this again soon. 

They hug a lot, one cupped against the other’s back while they brushes their teeth or cook, or face-to-face with noses tucked into shoulders, standing in the middle of the living room or waiting in line at the grocery store. They know they took living together for granted and don’t miss an opportunity now to be affectionate and near one another, knowing their time is limited. Of course there’s sex, but it’s the simpler intimacies that they seem most starved for, snuggling and kissing and touching just to touch. 

When they have some spare time throughout the week, Griffin gets Pat to practice driving. He had been the one to teach Pat to drive at all, and he’d like to be able to sleep for part of the trip to West Virginia, split the driving and not have to stop in the middle. Pat is nervous at first, but it comes back to him fairly easily. Traffic is dicey, but open roads are no problem. When Griffin had first started teaching him and asked why Pat had never learned, Pat told him it had been one more way to control him. He hadn’t elaborated and Griffin hadn’t asked. There is very little that Griffin knows about Pat’s home life, and he’s accepted that he might never know. He’s alright with that. The few hints Pat has shared make Griffin fairly sure he doesn’t want to know. 

Griffin has shed most of his doubts about coming out, it feels much easier now than it had when the prospect of taking Pat home with him had first been introduced. Every once in awhile, a stab of anxiety will jolt through his chest, but for the most part, he’s ready. He wants his family to know Pat is part of his life, wants to no longer feel like he’s only telling half-truths about himself. Pat’s nervous about meeting new people, in general, though he’s talked a little over Facebook with Justin and Travis, but he’s prepared to act primarily as Griffin’s support in case anything does go south. They both hope dearly that it doesn’t. 

The day before they’re set to leave, Griffin works first shift, and when he gets home, Pat has dinner ready, like usual, and loads the car for him while there is still daylight. Pat can tell Griffin’s usual energy is down, he’s been covering for the store manager a lot lately and working overtime, and Pat has felt especially nurturing and protective of him. Once they’ve eaten, Pat suggests they get stoned to make sure they get some good sleep and--after jerking each other off to sloppy, pine-resin kisses--they are snoring quietly under a heap of blankets before 6:00 PM, Pat spooned tightly against Griffin’s back, and Cecil curled up in a ball just under Griffin’s chin. 

A little after two in the morning, Pat’s phone wakes them with the chocobo theme. Griffin snoozes it for another ten minutes and when it goes off again, they sleepily hum it to each other and finally get out of bed, sharing a quick shower and making a strong pot of coffee. Griffin makes sure Cecil’s litter box is clean and his food and water bowls are full and they each give him a little forehead kiss while he naps on his cat tree, telling him to be good for his sitter. They share a quick breakfast of toast, and just before three, they are leaving the apartment with thermoses full of caffeine and layered up in warm, comfortable clothes, ready for a full day of driving. 

Their timing and luck are perfect and they are passing through Dallas just early enough to avoid heavy traffic, moving on towards Little Rock as the sun starts to come up. Pat relaxes after the first hour or so and feels fairly confident with his driving. Griffin falls asleep just before Dallas and Pat can’t help but steal little glance of him in the morning light. When he wakes up again in Arkansas, Pat rubs his leg and asks if he slept well and Griffin takes his hand, assuring him in a sleep-hoarse voice that he feels rested and awake. They hold hands for nearly a hundred miles. 

It isn’t until Memphis that they hit lunch traffic and Pat gets anxious. There are detours and road construction and a confusing jumble of signs. Griffin talks to him calmly and guides him to an exit, finding a restaurant to have lunch at and stretch their legs. Once back in the car, Griffin takes over and Pat naps through most Tennessee as the sun begins to set behind them. He rouses again as Griffin is taking the off-ramp at Elizabethtown to cut across to I-64, and the moon is rising in the distance, bright white against dark indigo, nearly full. 

By now, they are both groggy and stiff and Griffin finds a pop station and turns it up loud, rolling down the windows to blast them with cold air for a few miles, screaming catchy tunes into the crisp, winter countryside to wake themselves up. In Lexington, they pick up fast food for dinner and Griffin dictates a quick text for Pat to send to Justin, letting him know their ETA. 

The pop station gives out as they near the West Virginia border and Griffin finds a different one, singing quietly to Glenn Campbell as they are crossing the Big Sandy. The sky has clouded the further east they go and when they finally pull up into the driveway, a welcoming porch light and cheerful Candlenights lights to greet them, it begins to snow. Pat steps out of the car and the hush of a sleeping neighborhood, peppered with the whisper of snowflakes hitting frozen, dry lawns feels like an idyllic moment of calm after hours of thrumming wheels and radio ads. He hears the squeal of a screen door open as they are pulling their bags out of the car and Justin toddles out onto the porch in pajamas and a pair of slippers, spreading his arms and looking up at the sky, an enormous grin splitting his face. “Hey! You brought snow with you!” 

“It’s my Candlenights miracle,” Griffin replies matter-of-factly in a jokey voice, grunting as Justin gives him a crushing hug. Pat hides shyly behind Griffin, but offers a hand to Justin when they pull apart, introducing himself. 

“Thank you so much for flying me out. I really can’t tell you how much it means to us.” It comes out sounding even sappier and more serious than he’d intended, but Justin seems intrigued by his heartfelt gratitude, patting his arm and guiding them inside. 

“Absolutely! Griffy’s hard as fuck to get gifts for, you were an easy slam dunk.” Only a few lights are on inside--a lamp, the light over the sink, a night light in the hall--just enough to illuminate the way to the kitchen and down the stairs to the finished basement, where the couch is already pulled out into a bed and dressed with blankets and pillows for them. “Syd’s already asleep and I’m headed that way, but I think we’ve got everything y’all need. Bathroom, bed, there’s a wet bar with some sodas and glasses if you want water or whatever. I figure we can go get breakfast somewhere in the morning before we head to dad’s?” 

Griffin nods and unzips his jacket, grateful for the space heater already warming the room for them. “Yeah, that sounds good. It looks great down here!” The last time he’d been home, it was still under construction. 

“Aw, thanks, we worked really hard.” Justin makes sure they’re settled in before wishing them good night, heading back upstairs, his footsteps creaking above them. 

Pat changes into some sleep clothes and brushes his teeth and Griffin follows suit, flicking off the lights and climbing under the covers with Pat. They talk in the dark for a while about tomorrow, about how and when the opportunity might arise to mention, “by the way, Dad, Pat’s my boyfriend,” about the usual Candlenights Eve traditions Griffin’s family partakes in, especially one Griffin feels a little strange bringing Pat to, or more, isn’t sure it’s something Pat will feel comfortable being a part of. Pat only asks if Griffin wants him there, which he does, and that’s that. 

In the morning, they go out to a Waffle House for breakfast, and Sydnee takes to Pat rather quickly, glad to not be the only non-McElroy--by blood, anyway--to be thrown into the holiday fray. Most of breakfast is Justin and Griffin catching up, immediately so in sync it’s almost scary. Pat thinks of Griffin’s relationship with his family as something of an anthropological study, blown away by how genuinely healthy and loving they are with one another. He’s glad for Griffin that he has this, but he can’t help but feel a twist of jealousy in his gut that such a normal, nurturing environment feels foreign to him. 

Climbing back into the backseat of Sydnee’s SUV to head over to Clint’s house, Pat can sense Griffin beginning to get anxious. He reaches for his hand and rubs it comfortingly, trying to assure him without words that everything will be fine, not that he can be sure. He hopes he isn’t setting up a false sense of security. 

Pat is wholly unprepared for the whirlwind of energy that is all four McElroy men together. As they come up the walkway to the house, Clint and Travis--who had driven in from Ohio earlier that morning--both come out to meet them. There is hugging and loud, cheerful voices all speaking over each other and laughter at jokes Pat doesn’t catch or maybe weren’t there, just laughter for the hell of it. Before Pat knows what’s happening, Travis is hugging him with a warm, “It’s so nice to finally meet you!” and Pat stalls out for a moment, overwhelmed, and then relaxes. He smiles shyly and tells Travis hello before turning when he feels Griffin touch his arm. 

“Dad, this is Patrick.” No “my boyfriend” yet. _Good_ , Pat thinks, _we’re not even in the house yet, maybe we should wade into it_. He sees Clint recognize his name and shakes his hand when it’s offered to him. 

“Pat! Hi! Welcome to Huntington! How’s California?” He’s heard Clint’s voice before over the phone with Griffin, and on a radio commercial as they were driving in last night, but there’s something so disarming and genuine about him in person that Pat can’t help but smile goofily as he’s jostled with a heavy pat to the shoulder, muttering out, “sunny”. 

“I hope you don’t mind that he came with me?” Griffin asks, testing the waters a little, as they shuffle into the house, stomping snow off their shoes at the door. 

“Of course not! The more the merrier, that’s what Candlenights is all about, right?” Pat is mesmerized by all the holiday decorations in the house. He tries to take it all in, but as soon as they are in the house, they are preparing to go back out of it. Clint passes around paper to-go cups of hot chocolate and makes sure everyone who needs to use the restroom has done so, bustling around and grabbing a few things: a guitar case, a framed photo, a potted poinsettia. They load back into two cars and drive only a few minutes to their destination. 

Pat has been told about this tradition but doesn’t know what to expect, getting out onto the snowy sidewalk and following after the five of them into the cemetery. 

The snow stopped about an hour before, but had been going all night. The tombstones are all capped with white and when they reach the stone they’re looking for, Travis and Sydnee brush the snow away from the top of it. Pat stays a step back, watching what feels like a ritual take place, the poinsettia placed just to the left of the name carved into granite, a prayer candle lit and set on top of the stone next to a framed photo from a past Candlenights with the family complete. Justin and Griffin both have guitars and after Clint says a short prayer, they sing carols together. Pat distracts himself at first, watching a small group of birds, bright red against the snow, flutter quietly between the graves. He feels like he is intruding on something that doesn’t belong to him, but after a couple of songs, he steps in a little closer and sings the carols he knows, finding it hard to take his eyes off Griffin. 

This is a part of himself Griffin keeps closely guarded, a wound that is still raw and, in many ways, likely always will be. In between songs, they reminisce on some of their favorite family Candlenights memories, most of which are directed at Sydnee and Pat, the two outsiders, sharing the joy of the memories instead of wallowing in the loss of them. All the same, even seeing him laugh and smile through it, Pat can tell that this is still a kind of mourning for Griffin, and it’s difficult to witness. It’s a pain he knows nothing about and can’t help soothe, and one he feels sure Griffin will always carry. 

As the tradition winds to a close, Clint blows out the candle and there’s a round of _love you, mom_ ’s as each son kisses the top of the stone. Sydnee pats it lovingly and Pat turns away before Clint leans down to say goodbye, feeling himself start to get choked up for reasons he can’t explain. Travis is wiping at his face as he heads back to the car and the rest of them follow in an unhurried line, Pat tagging behind a little with Sydnee. 

“Did you know her?” 

Sydnee nods. “Mmhmm. She was one of the best people I’ve ever met. Candlenights was her favorite holiday, she went buck wild.” Pat believes her, seeing only the impression, the holes, left behind. He walks elbow-to-elbow with Sydnee back out of the cemetery, huddled in their jackets, and there’s a solemn energy once they’re all in the car again. Pat looks at Griffin, sitting with his hands stuffed into his pockets and jaw tight in a way Pat can’t read as a precursor to tears or anger. He knows from the few times Griffin has showed him this raw, hurting place that anger is a big part of it for him, still. He opens his mouth to say something, then pulls out his phone instead, texting Griffin, _I love you so much_. 

Griffin takes his phone from his pocket as it vibrates and lets out a soft laugh, sniffling. He smiles at Pat. “Love you, too.” Sydnee and Justin exchange a quick, knowing glance from the front seat, and the rest of the short drive back to Clint’s house is in silence, but the morose atmosphere clears quickly. 

Pat quietly asks where the restroom is once they are in the house and slips away, taking a moment to himself. He is beginning to feel very out of place and fighting it back as best he can. He’s never had these charming, open family moments, had gone much of his life suspecting they were performative or pure fiction, but it all feels very real and warm and supportive, even in its rituals of grief, and Pat’s closest taste of that in his whole life is Griffin. He feels like a stowaway, expecting to at any moment have his papers checked and be deported from this normal, functional microcosm. 

The house is starting to smell like wassail and baked apples when he comes back out, finding the family gathered around the large granite kitchen island, sipping hot cider and eating finger sandwiches. Clint is putting on some quiet blues for background noise and Pat leans against the counter next to Griffin, discreetly rubbing his back for a brief moment. Clint sidles into the kitchen wearing a floppy Star King hat, grinning like a fool. He turns his attention to Pat, the only person in the room he doesn’t know. 

“Patrick, are you from Austin?” Polite interest. 

Pat offers a tight-lipped smile. “No, ah, I grew up in Maine.” 

“Oh! Well how’d you end up in Austin?” 

“It wasn’t Maine.” He feels like an asshole skirting this after the deeply personal thing they had all shared with him, but there is nothing bittersweet about his family memories, just the back-of-the-throat burn of battery acid. Clint realizes he’s found a bruise and diverts his interest elsewhere. 

“What is it you’re studying again? Game programming?” 

Pat is relieved and thankful for the course correction. “Game design, uh huh. I got all of my core classes out of the way at tech, so this first semester has been pretty intense.” He happily talks with Clint a while about his classes and a few of his smaller projects while the others get pulled into their own conversations. Griffin is eavesdropping on them rather obviously, waiting for an opening. 

Pat is oblivious to Griffin’s spying and is surprised when he butts in as Clint comments how nice it is that they’ve stayed close after Pat moved away. 

“Hey Daddy?” Griffin steps up beside Pat and Pat realizes what’s going on, thinking _oh shit_ so loudly he isn’t sure he hasn’t said it out loud. “Patrick and I… Pat’s not just my friend.” Pat has no idea how to react, if he should at all, but squeezes back when Griffin grabs his hand. The conversation behind them goes silent and the smallest, quietest squeak of excitement filters from Travis. 

It’s impossible to read Clint’s face and the silence drags on for ages, or so it seems. Griffin is almost angry that it had been that easy all along when his father scoffs, finally cracking a smile. “Ah, yeah, I kinda got that impression, honey.” Pat lets out a breath that he isn’t sure how long he’s been holding and Clint points to the three stooges trying not to laugh on the other end of the island. “They knew already?” 

Griffin nods, rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah, uh… for a while.” 

Clint nods, humming. “Okay. Is that all?” 

Griffin is very, very confused at how casually this is going. He stammers for a moment and then shrugs, putting an arm around Pat’s waist. “Yeah, that’s it.” 

Clint’s smile widens and he reaches out and pats them both on the cheek. “Mmkay then. Anybody wanna build a snowman?” The questions prompts a sudden dissonant burst of singing and a slow march out into the yard. 

Griffin is still dumbstruck and Pat can’t help but gloat just a little. “I told you it would be fine.” He hadn’t actually been sure, but he’s very glad now that it is. Griffin shoves him playfully before giving him a quick kiss, pulling on his hat and gloves and trudging out into the snow. 

It takes about four nanoseconds for a snowball fight to erupt and Pat can’t feel his face when they finally come back inside, helping Sydnee and Clint cut vegetables for soup and feeling less foreign now than he had before. They sit around the table and eat dinner together and he and Griffin’s chairs and pulled very close, pressed hip-to-hip and perfectly comfortable with the closeness, something no one else at the table misses. After dinner, Justin passes around mugs of wassail and Pat reminds no one of his age when he sniffs the hot steam coming off the drink and can tell it’s probably flammable. He sips it slow, good and buzzed by the time charades begins. 

Pat and Griffin dominate, but Pat discovers quickly that the McElroy version of the game often prioritizes goofs over guessing a round correctly. When Travis is up and twiddles the ends of his moustache--a truly ridiculous eyesore he is wearing for a character in a show--as his hint, before Pat can blurt out “handlebars”, there’s a chorus of: 

“Free candy!” 

_“Stranger danger!”_

**_“Panel van!”_**

Pat laughs too hard to take the point. They aren’t really keeping score, anyway. 

Despite encouraging the rest of them to get good and Candlenights drunk, Justin had remained sober, and drives them home around midnight. Curled up together on the fold-out couch, Pat tells Griffin about his sense of otherness at the beginning of the day, of being a migrant into their healthy family environment. Griffin kisses him blindly and tugs the covers around them. “Do you feel naturalized now?” His tongue stumbles over the word. 

Pat laughs, a hot breath against Griffin’s cheek. “Yeah, I think so.” 

Griffin worms his way closer, trying to siphon off Pat’s body heat. “Good. Now that they’ve met you, you know that being with me, that means being a part of my family… right?” 

Pat likes the sound of that. A voice in the back of his mind shouts that he doesn’t deserve it, but the booze muffles its unwanted opinion. “Yeah. I’m good with that.” 

They wake to Justin yelling down the basement stairs, “Y’all, it’s snowin’ hard as hell!” like an excited five year old and Griffin shakes the whole bed laughing. When they are up and dressed and make it upstairs into the kitchen, Justin hands them a bag full of sweaters, each uglier than the last. He and Sydnee are already wearing ones with obnoxious dangling knit ornaments and felt reindeer antlers. Sydnee’s is about two sizes too big, the sleeves bunched up into big bundles around her elbows while she flips pancakes. 

Griffin and Pat dig through the bag, which smells like mothballs and mistakes, picking out atrocious, gaudy nightmares and pulling them on. Pat has decorated trees with unnerving googly eyes and Griffin has snowmen fully sequined and gathered around a fire in a cheerful, hideous suicide pact. For a while, they can’t look at each other without bursting into giggles. 

After breakfast, Pat helps Sydnee load the dishwasher while Justin and Griffin load all the presents into Sydnee’s car and they head back over to Clint’s. There are somehow even more decorations today, Pat’s sure of it, and Clint’s ugly holiday sweater actually _lights up and plays a song_ when he squeezes the reindeer’s nose. It’s the most ridiculous thing Pat has ever seen and he loves it. They are all shuffled over to the tree, an enormous thing loaded with ornaments and garland, and Clint directs them around for family pictures. Griffin puffs up proudly when Clint waves the others out of the way to get one of just him and Pat, then one with only Justin and Sydnee, an easy, normal gesture he’d never imagined happening. 

They move on to opening presents and Pat feels a little embarrassed when he realizes everyone is watching curiously as he and Griffin exchange their gifts for each other. He feels almost like he is being evaluated, second-guessing himself that his gift is too practical and boring--some shirts and a pair of jeans and a giftcard to go towards the stand mixer Griffin has been saving up for--but Griffin’s gift to him isn’t much different. They know each other well and try to fill needs, not dazzle with novelties. Pat looks through the clothes, smiling at the gift certificate at the bottom of the box. When Pat had started getting into yoga and meditation, Griffin had been skeptical and even a little cynical at first that maybe Los Angeles was getting to him, but he quickly saw that it was helping Pat have a healthy outlet for his shitty mental health days. The certificate was for a two hour private meditation session in an underground shrine in the hills above Los Angeles that was special in ways Griffin didn’t really buy into or understand, but Pat had mentioned it in passing with wistful wanting and Griffin couldn’t push it from his mind when he’d started thinking about gifts. 

“It’s good til May, so, y’know, save it for when you really need it.” Pat is touched by such a thoughtful gesture and they share a quick thank you kiss, followed by an obnoxious chorus of _aaaw_ that makes them both blush. The uncomfortable attention on them shifts away as other gifts are opened, a jumble of thank yous and hugs passed around. When all the gifts are open and they are gathering up big balls of spent wrapping paper, Clint quietly, discreetly hands Pat a card. 

“If I’d known you were coming, I’d have had a gift. That’s half the fun, giving presents.” Pat is taken aback and already hoping there isn’t money in the card, that would make him so uncomfortable, but instead, it’s an aged recipe card, handwritten in a distinct cursive script. Griffin notices and looks over Pat’s shoulder, his eyes going wide. Clint just smiles and points to the card. “That’s their mom’s recipe for Griffy’s favorite casserole when he was a kid. I figured you might make better use of it now than me.” 

Pat is so floored he almost forgets to say thank you, immediately putting the card in a safe place with his other things. He can’t quite wrap his head around all the implications of the gesture and welcomes the distraction when Travis asks him to come help cook. Most of them migrate to the kitchen to start on dinner, but Clint and Griffin stay in the living room on the couch. 

Griffin is struck with a sudden realization, not the first time, that he is very lucky to have the family that he does. “Dad, you didn’t have to do that.” 

Clint waves it off. “I know I didn’t. Did it anyway, though.” There’s an awkwardness for several beats as they both try to breach the topic and Clint finally bumbles headlong into it. “So when you were with Sam, was that, you know…?” Sam had been Griffin’s girlfriend through most of high school. They still keep in touch. She is getting married next spring, and Griffin is happy for her. 

He isn’t quite sure what Clint is asking, tilting his head. “I mean, I loved Sam, it wasn’t, like… an experiment or something.” 

Clint nods slowly. “So you’re, y’know…” He makes an implacable gesture with boths hands and Griffin finally realizes what he’s asking. 

“You can say bisexual, Dad.” 

“Bisexual,” Clint blurts out automatically and they both laugh, the weird tension vanishing. Clint asks him how he and Pat met and Griffin fills in all the blanks from the just-friends story his dad already knew, telling him their plans to live together in LA once Griffin had graduated. Clint listens with interest, soaking up how happy Griffin looks talking about Pat. He looks over the back of the couch into the kitchen and make sure no one is eavesdropping on them. “You think he’s _the one_?” 

Griffin laughs nervously, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what that means, honestly. But I know he makes me feel safe, and I can’t think about the future without him in it, and I know I love him.” 

Clint doesn’t say anything, smiling at Griffin for a drawn out moment before cupping his face and kissing him on the forehead, getting up to join the dinner efforts, asking Griffin to come make the biscuits. 

The rest of the day passes in a comfortable, warm melange of food and stories and a more wassail. Pat winds up stretching out on the floor by the tree, having eaten himself into shame, but doesn’t regret it. It’s very clear now where Griffin’s culinary prowess comes from. Griffin sits down beside him to make sure he’s okay, grinning drunkenly. “Having a good time?” 

Pat nods, flicking an ornament hanging just above his head. “Yuh huh, just ate myself to death.” 

Griffin snorts, playing with Pat’s hair. “I’m glad you liked it, because we’re getting sent home with leftovers.” Pat finally gets up and Griffin suggests they get some fresh air, stepping out onto the back deck and sitting on the porch swing, watching the snow drift down, the cold feeling good on their flushed skin. 

“Geez, that cider is no joke,” Pat laughs, leaning heavily against Griffin’s shoulder. 

Griffin teases him lightly, “You’re such a cheap date,” but he isn’t unaffected, either. “They like you, y’know.” 

Pat closes his eyes and smiles, nuzzling his nose into Griffin’s hair. “Yeah? Hmm… I like them, too.” 

Griffin turns his head to kiss him once, but it gets dragged out into more. They don’t realize they’re making out until they hear laughter from inside and Pat pulls away to see Justin and Travis dart away from the window. Griffin hides his face in Pat’s shoulder and laughs, embarrassed. “Sorry, they’re jerks.” 

Pat kisses him again and they go back inside as Travis is getting ready to leave. He has to drive back that night for a rehearsal in the morning. He only has a few more shows before he can finally shave off that awful moustache. They all say goodbye and hug and help him carry his things to his car, and the rest of them head back to Sydnee and Justin’s shortly after. 

It’s cold and quiet in the car, especially after a day of loud laughter in a warm home, and as they pull away, waving to Clint and his flashing, singing sweater on the porch, Justin sighs and says “I think Dad needs to start dating again.” 

Griffin realizes they are leaving him to an empty house, Clint all alone with just one aloof old cat, and he mutters softly in agreement. 

There is a break in the snow when they arrive home and Pat and Griffin go ahead and load their car, ready to leave in the morning. They spend one last night on the pull-out couch and in the morning, Pat puts the bedding in the washer and does a light cleaning of the bathroom, before going upstairs to make coffee for Justin and Sydnee before they wake up. He finds a pen and pad for grocery lists and writes them a thank you note for opening their home to him, leaving it on the refrigerator door. 

They head out with Sydnee when she leaves for work and it’s a rotating circle of hugs in the driveway. Justin gets emotional, not letting go of Griffin while he lectures him tearfully about not getting to run away to California and never come home again. Griffin assures him that won't happen, that they’ll both be back sooner rather than later, and Justin finally lets him go, telling them to drive safe and text him when they’re back home in Austin. Pat waves goodbye from the passenger seat, and it dawns on him that he’s really going to miss them. 

Griffin drives until there’s no more snow and Pat takes over when they’re almost out of Kentucky. Griffin has work the next day and sleeps most of the drive and Pat has a lot of quiet time to think and process over the last few days. For the most part, it is warm, fuzzy feelings and holiday cheer, but a few hours into night-driving, the little voice at the back of his thoughts worms its way to the front and he thinks again how new and unfamiliar all of it had been, being part of a family gathering that hadn’t disintegrated into fighting or passive-aggressive poison. He didn’t come from love like theirs, he came from battlefields and control and isolation, and the voice told him he didn’t belong in their world, didn’t deserve any of the love and kindness they had shown him. 

Pat cries so hard he has to pull over for a while and he’s glad that Griffin is still asleep through it, because he doesn’t think he can translate all these thoughts and feelings into words, nor wants to be the wet blanket on a good trip home. When he gets himself back together, the voice is still there, and Pat counts cars along the highway to try and drown it out. 

Pulling into their apartment complex at almost four in the morning, Pat is exhausted enough that the he doesn’t care what the voice has to say anymore, unloading the car in a daze and crawling into bed with Griffin with a satisfied sigh. He sinks into the mattress and realizes what a whirlwind the last few days have been, highlighted by his sharp turn in mood now. It isn’t new, and it isn’t something he knows how to deal with, or talk about, so he stuffs as much of it as he can into the proverbial storage closet at the back of his mind and hopes like hell he doesn’t have to clean it out anytime soon. 

Griffin rolls over and wraps his arms around and Pat, and Pat thinks that at least it’s been a long time since the voice has tried to convince him he doesn’t deserve _this_ , and as he fits himself against Griffin under the covers, he falls asleep before it has a chance to start.


	9. Chapter 9

“I don’t know why you’re setting mood lighting, it’s not like I can see anything.” 

“Hush, you.” Griffin whacks Pat’s thigh with the back of his hand, the restraints creaking slightly as he tenses. "It's for me." Griffin sets the candle down on the nightstand and tilts his head, admiring the view. There are lots of things in the kinky, broad sea of BDSM that really don’t do it for him, but Pat’s slender body spread-eagle and tied down to the bed, blindfolded and completely at his mercy, is very high on the list of things that do. For the most part they are fairly vanilla, but now and again Griffin likes to spice things up, and Pat has only turned down a few proposals. 

This, however, is one of the first times Pat has been the one to request a kinky night, and Griffin had nearly tripped over himself to oblige. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Griffin brushes his knuckles lightly over Pat’s ribs, making him quiver. Pat’s only request had been the restraints, he trusts Griffin to surprise him with whatever else the night might entail. Griffin had entertained a host of ideas while he secured each limb to a bedpost, but he’s quite sure now what he wants, trusting that fantasy and reality don’t work out too differently from one another. 

Griffin quickly searches for an ambient playlist to have some instrumental background noise and plays it at a low volume. The noise throws Pat off as he tries to listen for Griffin when his weight shifts off the bed, but he can’t quite tell what he’s doing, his toes curling when the bed shifts again and Griffin straddles his waist. The mattress dips and Pat’s wrists tug against the padded cuffs as he’s pulled down slightly, making him flex his fingers into a fist, then stretch back out. He has very little slack and it’s exactly what he wants. Griffin digs his short nails into Pat’s sides and sits more of his weight down on Pat’s stomach when he squirms, clawing red strips down his ribs and then two more matching sets down his chest. 

Pat sucks in a breath and grits his teeth. He doesn’t actually like the pain, he likes the control, or more, the surrender of it. He has been putting on a smile and telling Griffin he’s fine over the last few days despite his general mood continuing to plunge since getting back to Austin, and he desperately needs some surrender right about now. The blindfold going on had nearly made him panic, but once he talked himself down, he started to feel the twisted knot in his stomach untangle, and now Griffin’s teeth and fingers were working to unravel him a little more at a time. 

When Griffin leans down to kiss his mouth, Pat is passive and obedient, letting Griffin’s tongue explore wherever it wants, opening wider for him and shivering as their teeth clack together, letting out a whine of pain when Griffin bites down on his bottom lip, hard. He sucks it into his mouth and worries at it with his tongue when Griffin pulls away, almost expecting to taste blood. The blindfold makes everything feel so much more intense, so much sharper than it really is. Once when they had played this game, Griffin had written his name along the inside of Pat’s thigh in ballpoint pen, and Pat had been sure he was cutting him with a knife. 

The bites to his neck and shoulders now feel like he is being devoured, and Pat gives into it, riding out the pain. When Griffin opens his jaw wide and fit his mouth over Pat’s throat, sucking at it and biting down ever so slightly, a primal fear that he might crunch down shoots briefly through Pat, and the relief that follows when he doesn’t blurs into a tingle of arousal that has been building since Griffin had first pushed him down on the bed. By the time Griffin’s sharp mouth has trekked down to leave bruises on his hips and thighs, Pat’s cock is aching to be touched. 

He’s not sure if it’s promising or not as he hears the sound of a rubber glove being snapped on and he gasps and curses when cold, lubed fingers are pushing at him without any warning. Pat moves his hips towards the fingers pushing into him as much as he can, but Griffin presses him down into the bed and he does his best to take the hint and stop moving, whimpering as Griffin slowly teases him open, continuing to ignore his dick. He wonders if this is what Griffin wants, to get him off just from finger fucking him, and he just might if he keeps it up. Three fingers has Pat gasping and moaning, Griffin having to bar the forearm of his freehand over Pat’s hips and lean his weight into it to keep Pat from bucking and wriggling. 

He keeps waiting for Griffin to stop and put his cock in, instead, but it becomes more and more clear that this isn’t just prep. His fingers expertly seek out every sensitive spot, toying with him, stroking around his hole and then fucking him roughly with three fingers again, pummeling against his prostate. Pat feels as if there is a tight coil in him, nearly wound to its limit, ready to break and spring free. He tries to communicate this, to let Griffin know he’s close, but it’s already too late and the words get jumbled up and discarded for a loud, long moan as he cums. His body becomes a tense, long line and his hips push hard up against Griffin’s weight as his muscles pulse around Griffin’s gloved fingers, still crooked and rubbing in slow circles at him. 

When Pat’s body relaxes, Griffin stops, sitting back and watching Pat shake, panting for breath. He wouldn’t consider himself a sadist, but seeing Pat strung out and unwound like this, being the one who gets to and is able to do it, is too good. He sits on his knees at the foot of the bed and pulls the glove off, watching Pat for a while until he’s come down a bit, hungrily eyeing the pool of cum threatening to roll up into Pat’s bellybutton. Griffin leans down and slurps it up noisily before crawling to fit his knees under Pat’s armpits, straddling his chest and resting the tip of his dick against Pat’s lips. 

Without even thinking about it, Pat opens his mouth and Griffin shoves in, slowly fucking his mouth, careful not to gag him. Pat sucks gratefully, loving the taste of Griffin on his tongue. He’s so in his head he doesn’t realize he’s struggling against the binds, flexing his hands and bending his knees, until Griffin’s cock pulls free from his mouth--Pat tries to crane his neck and follow it, jaw dropped and tongue lolled out, wanting more--and Griffin asks if he wants to be let go. Pat stops struggling and shakes his head. “No, ‘m’okay.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yessir.” Griffin is satisfied with that and slow-fucks Pat’s soft mouth for a while longer before he knows if he doesn’t stop, he won’t be able to, replacing his cock with his fingers. Pat sucks them just as enthusiastically, opening his mouth as wide as he can for Griffin and lets him prod at his teeth and rub his tongue, tasting the faint chalkiness of talcum powder from the inside of the glove. Briefly, Griffin shoves all four fingers into his mouth as far back as he can, making Pat choke, before pulling away and leaving the bed. 

Pat tries to listen for him and hears the click of the lube bottle’s cap and then nothing for what feels like several long minutes. When the bed dips again, he instinctively pushes his body up towards Griffin’s warmth as Griffin lays out over him and guides himself to Pat’s hole, rubbing against him before pressing forward. Pat sighs, turning his knees out to try and give Griffin a little better angle, the sigh spiking into a shout as Griffin bites his chest, hard, and sinks all the way in. Griffin’s hands are all over him and Pat purrs and soaks up the attention, the restraints tugging with each thrust. 

Griffin’s mouth fastens to the sensitive spot under Pat’s jaw, more tongue and lips than teeth for now, and Pat is hard again, Griffin’s rounded stomach rubbing against it as he fucks Pat in short, deep snaps of his hips. Pat is so distracted by the pleasure that he doesn’t realize what Griffin is doing, unable to figure out the new sensation until the belt is already tightening around his throat. 

Pat tenses, but the belt is only snug, not cutting off any air. Still, something about it has him more apprehensive than when Griffin chokes him by hand, something he will only humor on occasion to begin with. Griffin’s mouth goes back to the spot under his jaw and his cock is driving in deeper, and for now, Pat accepts the belt. 

Griffin isn’t in any rush, fucking Pat almost lazily while his teeth leave angry purple crescents all over Pat’s pale body. He gnaws at him and makes him squirm and it is only when Pat starts to struggle after Griffin starts to bite too hard that he begins to work toward climax, sitting up with his thighs tucked under Pat’s to jerk him off while he fucks him rough and fast, the bed creaking and the sound of skin slapping together drowning out the quiet music. His hand on the belt tugs and Pat starts to feel lightheaded, but Griffin is fucking him just right and he doesn’t want to make him stop. He’s close, and it isn’t that tight, he reasons, but Griffin tugs harder and harder the closer he gets, his free hand fisting over Pat’s cock furiously. Pat lets out a weak, strained groan and then realizes he can’t breathe. Panic sets in. He struggles, hard, yanking the restraints and tossing his head, terrified as his vision starts to tunnel. 

He’s sure this is how he will die, some wild accidental sex death, when Griffin’s fingers finally tug the belt free and Pat gulps in a huge breath of air and it all hits him at once as he’s cumming for the second time, _screaming_ , his whole body shaking and quivering under Griffin as he pulls out and makes an absolute mess of Pat and the bed, covering both in cum. 

Griffin leaves the bed again and Pat feels boneless, sagging into the mattress, his breathing ragged. “Don’t ever fucking do that again,” he lets out weakly to wherever Griffin is in the room. 

Griffin’s voice comes from directly above him a moment later, a genuinely apologetic “sorry”, but Pat kisses him back when Griffin leans down. Pat expects Griffin to let him go now, waiting for his cuffs to be unbuckled, but Griffin walks off again and Pat is still tied down. Pat wonders if he should ask to be let go but holds off for a while when Griffin comes back and starts to smear his fingers through both their jizz on his torso--it stings like hell on the bites--and licks him clean. 

The cold, long dildo shoved up his ass is so unexpected, Pat starts cursing incoherently, arching up off the bed as much as he can, finally choking out, “again?!” but Griffin is relentless, fucking him roughly with the toy as he sucks his soft cock into his mouth and works it with his tongue. Pat twists and whines, overwhelmed and torn between wanting it to stop and wanting more. He’s so sensitive now it almost hurts and Griffin can hear the strain in his voice, pulling away from his cock, half-hard now, burying the toy in Pat and twisting it idly. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Pat whimpers. “Yeh--hyuh… nnnn… no.” He has a feeling his body will regret this decision, but when Griffin goes back to sucking him off, he accepts the consequences, moaning helplessly as Griffin milks him towards a third orgasm. He’s so overstimulated, it takes some time, but Griffin gets him there. The usual warm, melting feeling of a mounting orgasm is beginning to feel more like putting his hand on the stove, but he’s cumming all the same, Griffin swallowing around him as Pat’s cock pulses. 

Griffin smacks loudly as he pulls away and carefully slides the toy out of Pat. Pat is so wrecked he doesn’t even move when Griffin unties his ankles, waiting for him to free his wrists. At this point, he isn’t even surprised when, instead, Griffin pushes Pat’s knees up and apart, and pushes back inside him. He can feel tears against the blindfold, but he’s just worn down. It still feels good--Griffin inside him always feels so good--and he’s too worn out to protest. His arms are tired and his wrists are sore and he’s pretty sure the rest of him is going to hurt for days, but Griffin’s face is tucked up against his and he’s breathing out the sweetest praises and Pat will take the discomfort for this. A good boy, he’s a good boy. He feels good, he feels so fucking good, Griffin’s missed him so much. Pat basks in the softer attention and sloppy kisses, wrapping his legs around Griffin’s waist and rocking back against him half-heartedly. 

He doesn’t have any strength left to protest when Griffin works a finger into Pat along with his dick, then replaces it with the slim vibrator Pat calls “The Mind Eraser”. He groans, knowing he’s probably about to phase through into another goddamn dimension. The J-shaped device sits comfortably flat and slim against the top of Griffin’s cock, and a rounded hook presses up against Pat’s prostate, and it fucking vibrates so hard that when Pat had done the nose-test in the store, his whole face had gone numb. 

When Griffin turns it on, they both let out a cry, and Pat knows the damn thing is only on the first setting. Griffin leaves it like that and thrusts experimentally. Pat feels like he is falling apart, jarred loose from reality, prostate first. Griffin turns the vibration up and Pat’s breathing starts to heave in and out of him. He loses any concept of time, Griffin could have fucked him for another few minutes or an hour, he isn’t sure. He only knows it’s almost over when Griffin starts to jerk him off, and Pat is so relieved when Griffin cums first and turns the vibrator off. He doesn’t pull out and Pat learns something new about himself when his brain fixates on Griffin’s cum inside him, and even though he’s only half hard, he cums one last time, obsessing over being filled up even as Griffin is going soft and pulling out. 

He doesn’t open his eyes for a while after Griffin finally frees him and pulls off the blindfold, laying in the sweat-and-cum damp sheets, his hair soaked, his throat dry, his whole body exhausted. Griffin pets his cheek gently and has a cold bottle of water for him, helping him sit up on some pillows to drink it. 

When Pat finally opens his eyes, he looks around the room and settles back into reality, the candlelit room and Griffin’s dimly illuminated face familiar and comforting. He weakly tugs Griffin down for a kiss, then shoves him. “I swear if you ever choke me with a belt ever again I’ll--” 

“I’m sorry!” Griffin laughs softly and kisses Pat’s forehead. “Honestly, I’m sorry. Never again.” 

Pat pouts and drains the water bottle, still thirsty when it’s gone. “...maybe on your birthday or something.” 

Griffin’s tongue pokes out between his teeth and he laughs again, rubbing Pat’s arm. “You deserve a good pampering, let me go run you a bath.” 

Pat wants to protest, wants to just go to sleep, but he is still awake when Griffin comes back to get him, helping him to the bath, which has a fizzing teal bomb in it that smells like jasmine and juniper and sparkles with little flakes of gold glitter. Pat hisses as he sinks into the hot water, all the scratches and bites and sucked-raw spots on his body stinging, but he submerges himself to the neck and rests back, letting Griffin tend to him. He’s too strung out on brain chemicals to do much else, anyway. 

Griffin brings him a bowl of ice cream with cookies crumbled on top and a beer and sits in his robe on the closed toilet seat, making sure Pat is okay and not crashing, going over what parts of the playtime had been good and what Pat could do without. Other than the belt and not realizing going into it that he was going to be fucked dry, Pat seems quite happy with everything. Griffin will check back in again in a day or two to make sure his contentment isn’t entirely due to the dopamine and endorphins Pat’s currently high as hell on. 

When the water is starting to go tepid, Pat can barely keep his eyes open. Griffin gets him out and dries him off and Pat sees himself in the mirror, shocked at first, and then only amused. He looks like he’s been mugged, or mauled, or both. He knows Griffin loves leaving marks, and Pat likes being marked up, if he’s honest, especially when he gets to carry these back to California as a little reminder of Griffin until they fade. Good thing it’s cold out and he won’t look suspect for wearing scarves, even in the mild Los Angeles winter. 

Griffin helps him into a loose pair of pajama pants and they shuffle off to bed, now made with fresh sheets, and Pat falls asleep nearly the moment his eyes close. 

Griffin curls up against his back, hugging onto him gently. He isn’t naive, he knows Pat’s mood has been declining since they got back, but he also knows there is little he can do about it other than try to help Pat weather through it. He hopes it’s only because they’ll be apart again soon, which Griffin is sad about, too, but a little worm of fear wonders if this is a depression cycle that will hit Pat the moment he’s back in LA, where he doesn’t really have any close friends and will have the added stress of school and work. Even though he knows he can’t drive it away no matter what, Griffin feels so much more helpless when Pat is hurting so far away from him. 

With the way rent looks in LA, they’re going to have to save every penny from here on out, and that means that more than likely, they won't see each other again until Griffin is actually moving. The prospect of Pat going through a mental health slump like he had in their first autumn living together honestly scares Griffin enough as is, but to think it might happen while they’re apart, and will be apart for almost six months, turns his stomach. He squeezes onto Pat and hopes to the universe, to whatever might be listening, that everything will be fine. 

He still has almost a week, he doesn’t want it to be full of dread for the long stretch apart to come. He’ll spend it filling Pat up with love and trying to think further into the future than the next semester, to think to the summer, when they’ll be on the beach together, or walking around getting lunch from a food truck in Hollywood, or having picnics up in the hills. When he finally sleeps, he dreams about a bright, sunny apartment with palm trees outside the large windows, and the tight fist he’s had gripped around his stomach loosens the tiniest bit.


	10. Chapter 10

New Year’s Eve, Griffin gets home from work around nine and, after a quick dinner of leftovers from the week, he and Pat get a little dressed up, get stoned, and walk about half a mile to a bar where their friend is playing with her band. They get there just in time to watch a good set and when midnight approaches, the crowd spills out onto the sidewalk and into the small park across the street. It isn’t quite freezing and the air is still and clear, a comfortable temperature to be outside in coats and scarves. When the countdown starts, Griffin steps up onto the curb with Pat still standing in the street so that they are eye-to-eye, and tugs Pat into a kiss right as people are throwing confetti and fireworks start going off around the city. 

The buzz is wearing off from earlier, but it is replaced with the general atmosphere of the night. Pat has always been a big fan of New Year’s, and very superstitious that whatever you’re doing on New Year’s Eve foreshadows the year ahead. A month ago, he had been afraid he wouldn’t be able to see Griffin over winter break, and kissing him now, even if it means nothing beyond this moment, makes him feel a little better about going back to LA. They pull away after a long kiss and Pat puts an arm snugly around Griffin’s waist as they watch the fireworks together. When the show is over and the air smells like gunpowder and champagne, they walk arm-in-arm back to the apartment. 

In the morning--their last day together that Griffin has off work--they indulge in some wake’n’bake, getting stoned again while they make coffee and cinnamon rolls in their pajamas and then have a late breakfast in bed. Griffin kisses frosting off the corner of Pat’s mouth and relaxes back into the pile of pillows. “What do you wanna do today, bud?” 

Pat shifts and lays with his head on Griffin’s stomach, pulling up a webpage on his phone. “Well… I don’t think you’ll want to, but…” He shows Griffin an event flyer for couple’s yoga at a local studio. All couples were welcome, of any skill level. 

Griffin makes a face. “I dunno, babe…” 

Pat gives him big brown puppydog eyes. “It’s fun! I’ve seen some couple’s classes at the studio by my dorms, it looks really… I dunno, intimate? Not weird, just nice. And I think you’ll actually like it, I know it feels sort of hippy-dippy or whatever at first, but it’s just a very non-judgmental space. All the reviews for this place are really good, too, and they offer a student discount.” 

Griffin plays with Pat’s hair while he talks, wrapping a strand around his finger. “You already signed us up, didn’t you?” He’s smiling. 

Pat blushes and bites his lip. “I can cancel, I just wanted to make sure we had a spot, in case the class fills up.” 

Griffin hums, looking at the ceiling, then back at Pat. “Can I think on it and see how I feel a little later?” The class is at seven that evening. 

Pat nods and rolls onto his side, rubbing Griffin’s chest absently. “Sure. What do you wanna do until then?” 

Griffin thinks on it, his fingers still stroking through Pat’s hair. “Honestly? I wanna smoke another bowl and take a nap, but I don’t want to waste spending time with you.” 

Pat scoffs. “Naps can be a group activity.” He sits up, going to grab their glass pipe (shaped like Toad), and brings the assorted paraphernalia back to the bed, sitting cross legged while he packs a fresh bowl and offers Griffin the first hit. Griffin had used cannabis for his anxiety for a year or two before he and Pat met, and while he still uses it to self-medicate on bad days, it is much more fun recreationally with a partner. They don’t smoke all the time, but it’s nice on special occasions or days off together, just to relax and melt into the couch and each other and unwind. 

They pass the pipe until it’s spent, curling up under the covers after, Griffin jet-packed onto Pat, nose nuzzled in his shoulder, one arm draped over Pat’s side with Pat’s arm on top of it, fingers laced loosely. They snooze for an hour or so before Pat wakes up to Griffin rutting against his ass, still asleep and making small, breathy sounds of pleasure. Pat is so warm and cozy and safe, he almost considers letting Griffin finish like that, but he eventually reaches back under the blankets and shakes Griffin awake. 

Griffin sucks in a breath through his nose and starts to sit up, then flops back down, his hand going to Pat’s groin as he continues to hump his hard, clothed cock against Pat. Pat laughs softly at him and lets Griffin play, closing his eyes and enjoying the lazy, half-asleep touches. When Griffin’s rutting starts to become more desperate, Pat shushes him softly and shimmies his pajamas down around his knees, reaching for the cocoa butter on the nightstand and rubbing some between his thighs. Griffin catches on and pulls his cock out and Pat helps him guide it between his skinny thighs, crossing his ankles to press his legs together tightly and hissing as Griffin starts to thrust, rubbing against his sore, raw skin, his inner thighs covered in bites and bruises. 

Griffin shoves a hand inside Pat’s underwear and Pat sighs as Griffin starts to stroke him, craning his neck back and twisting his upper body to get to Griffin’s mouth, moaning quietly into sloppy, stoned kisses. His hand slides down Griffin’s back and over his ass, squeezing and rubbing, pulling him close and rocking his hips as they both start to peak. Griffin buries his face in Pat’s shoulder and Pat gives into him as Griffin’s other arm spears under his body to wrap around him, holding on tight and fucking between his thighs roughly, jerking him off at a frantic pace. Pat cums first and he can feel static waves through his body as Griffin keeps stroking, overstimulating him until Griffin follows after, finally letting go of him, the both of them making a mess of the sheets. 

They stay exactly as they are, cuddling and petting each other for so long they nearly fall asleep again, but Pat starts to get uncomfortable with the drying pools of cum and finally pulls himself out of bed. They both help strip the bed and each other and start a load of laundry, getting dressed in fresh clothes and making the bed with clean linens, not having to say a word. Pat feels silly that he loves this kind of thing, the simple, domestic, mundane tasks that feel oddly romantic when he gets to do them with Griffin. He’s sure part of it are the rose-colored glasses he’s wearing after being apart, but he doesn’t let it squash the little butterfly parade in his stomach 

They’re the same ones that had marched around in him when he’d realized he had a crush, the same ones that had been there when he and Griffin were finally dating and the butterflies started chanting in his head “I love him, I love him, I love him!” until Pat had worked up the nerve to tell Griffin as much. He isn’t sure if the little butterflies are love, he is fairly certain it’s much more than that, but they are probably his favorite part. 

Once the bed is made, they migrate to the couch and continue the scifi series they had been watching a few nights before. Pat gets up to switch the laundry over to the dryer and when he comes back, Griffin announces out of nowhere, “I’ll go.” He sounds a little reluctant about it and it takes Pat a moment to realize what he’s referring to, then smiles. 

“You’ll like it, I promise. And if you don’t, we can leave. I mean, if you really just don’t feel comfortable, we don’t have to stay.” Griffin nods and they finish a couple more episodes before it’s time to head out. Pat pulls on some comfortable tights and a tank top under Griffin’s hoodie, and Griffin doesn’t have a clue what to wear that would be appropriate. Pat assures him that as long as he’s comfortable and can move in his clothes, it doesn’t matter what he wears. Griffin finally settles on a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt, which he layers a sweater over. He’s never been the type to feel okay about wearing sweatpants out of the house for anything other than 2AM fast-food runs, but he doesn’t think showing up to yoga in khakis would really work out. 

His first impression of the studio starts to calm Griffin’s uncertainties. As they walk in, the space is warm and smells like sandalwood and sage. There is a small lobby with large, abstract paintings and a front desk made from one huge, varnished slab of redwood. The aesthetic is about what he had expected but doesn’t feel cliche, and the two women at the front desk give off a genuine, open friendliness as they pay for the class and rent a couple of mats. Griffin doesn’t feel so much like an imposter when a middle-aged Mexican couple comes in together and signs up for the same class. They don’t look like his idea of flexible, toned, chakra-aligned yogis, just a normal couple, and it puts his mind at ease. 

There is an advanced class already in session in the downstairs studio, Griffin can see feet sticking up in the air and hear a deep voice instructing about flow and breath and dynamic balance (whatever the fuck that means), and he follows Pat up the stairs to another space, completely open with windows floor-to-ceiling on two walls, obscured with sheer saffron curtains. There is a stick of incense burning at a small altar with a bouquet of lilies and what he thinks is a small brass idol of Krishna, ringed with flickering votive candles. The room smells more like jasmine and musk than the more earthy scent downstairs and there is soft sitar and singing bowl music blowing from small speakers rigged up in the corners of the room. 

Pat slips his shoes off and leaves them with his wallet at the back of the room, Griffin following suit with his shoes and car keys, before they settle on a spot towards the back and far right, out of the way but not completely isolated. There are five other couples already seated on their mats, talking in pairs and amongst each other, with two more filtering in, including the older pair from before. Griffin sees quite a few straight couples that look exactly like what he would expect in a yoga class, but there is a younger black lesbian couple at the other end of the room, and that added with the older couple, he stops feeling quite so out of place. This isn’t a room full of health-conscious, good-vibe fitness freaks, like he’d been afraid of, it is just people. 

When class begins, there are a dozen couples in the room, spaced comfortably so no one feels too close to strangers. The instructor is a petite, muscular black woman with a smooth, low voice that instantly makes Griffin relax. She introduces herself as Kamaria and leads them through a short opening meditation, striking a chime to start the session, then slowly paces the room as she talks them through each position, making corrections or suggestions when needed. They begin facing one another, standing with their hands in an interlocked prayer position, heads bowed to press brows together, breathing together, then they turn and sit back-to-back, using one another as support for some gentle twists and stretches. 

Following Kamaria’s instruction, Pat folds forward into child’s pose and Griffin leans back, pushing himself to follow with Pat, laying on his back on top of him. Kamaria steps over and asks if she can before touching his shoulders, pushing them down towards the floor. Griffin had thought she was being metaphorical about having an open heart until he feels how letting his arms and shoulders relax back opens up his chest, making the whole stretch more satisfying and comfortable. He had felt like he was wobbling on top of Pat’s knobby spine, but as he relaxes, he fits surely against him, his weight helping Pat stretch forward under him. 

Kamaria smiles and keeps her hands on his shoulders until she feels them fully release. “Let go. Trust him.” She straightens and continues to make her rounds, instructing them to switch, and Griffin is more aware of how much tension he holds in his body, consciously letting it release. Pat is flowing along naturally, clearly comfortable in the setting and letting out big, pleased sighs when he gets a good stretch, keeping an even, slow breath for Griffin to fall back into when he lets his own breathing get away from him. 

They move on to standing poses, and during a supported squat, Griffin loses his grip and his balance and falls back onto his ass, rocks onto his back, and flops over on the floor. He’s embarrassed for a split second and let’s out a loud burst of laughter, which embarrasses him more. Pat tries to conceal that he’s giggling and helps Griffin up and Kamaria comes over and pats his back. “It’s okay, laughter is good! Laughter is cleansing! This isn’t about being perfect, this is about experiencing each other and your bodies and being present.” She spins in place and throws her hair wildly, waving her hands in a silly impromptu dance. “Laugh!” There are a few small chuckles and she prompts them a few more times until most of the class has caught the giggles, laughing only because their partner is laughing and smiling, leaving a bright feeling in the room as they get back to the poses. 

They are back with interlocked prayer hands, foreheads touching--this time seated--when Kamaria lowers the lights. “We’re going to move on to more intimate sequences, and I want to assure you that arousal is normal. Don’t be embarrassed, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, just focus on your partner. I do ask, however, that you not act on any of those urges?” A nervous chuckle dots the room and Pat sees Griffin blush. “However, if you feel the impulse to share a kiss, or an embrace, I encourage you to do so.” Pat gives Griffin a quick peck and he can hear that they aren’t the only ones. 

There aren’t many poses, but the prompts to breath in rounds and look into each other’s eyes is far more raw than either of them expect, especially in a setting where they haven’t just made love and are alone in their own bed. It casts the closeness and intimacy they feel after sex in a much different light, removing it from its usual setting and prerequisite ritual of vulnerability, and Griffin finds it a little difficult to stay in the moment, but Pat pulls him back gently whenever he wavers, kissing him softly. 

Kamaria turns the lights almost completely out and guides them into their last pose before closing, something she calls _the love couch_ , with partners facing each other, seated hip-to-hip, knees bent, and leaned in on each other to rest back against their partner’s thighs. It’s a comfortable position with prime cuddling and caressing opportunities. “Enjoy looking at your beloved, speak your feelings to them, touch their face, whatever feels comfortable in this moment.” 

Griffin reaches out and cups Pat’s jaw, stroking his cheek with his thumb, and Pat calmly tells him, “You’re the love of my life,” before he even knows he’s thinking the words. He doesn’t know where they came from but they feel true. 

Griffin bites his lip and tells Pat how special he is to him and they smile goofily at each other and hold hands until Kamaria instructs them to lie back and begins the closing meditation, with no lights or music. Griffin’s hand is warm and soft in Pat’s. The still calm drags on and on and Griffin doesn’t feel sleepy, but at peace. He squeezes Pat’s hand and when the chime rings three times to bring everyone back to full awareness, Pat sits up and kisses Griffin again, the butterflies still loitering in his chest. 

Pat asks to drive as they step out of the warm studio and into the freezing night, the lit parking lot stark black and white after the colorful studio interior. “So?” Pat asks as he’s buckling himself in, letting the engine warm up. “What did you think?” 

Griffin shrugs, resting his hand on Pat’s thigh. “I dunno, it was nice with you. I don’t think I’d enjoy it by myself.” 

“Well, you don’t have to. But tonight was good?” Pat peeks at Griffin at a stop light, catching his smile. 

“Yeah, buddy, tonight was great.” 

They ride on the feel-good fuzzies from the class through the next day to drown out the dread of knowing Pat will be gone in the morning. While Griffin is at work, Pat walks to the supermarket and gets ingredients for the casserole recipe Clint had gifted him. He’s not a very confident cook, despite how easy and fully laid out the recipe is, and he’s nervous to start. On a whim, he takes the framed picture of Griffin’s mom off the bookshelf in the living room and brings it into the kitchen, resting the recipe card against it to reference as he works. He makes two so that he can freeze one for Griffin to have later. 

He doesn’t know what it’s supposed to taste like (or look like, for that matter), but it smells incredible, and Griffin practically shouts the moment he walks in the door. “Holy fuck, babe!” He hugs Pat hello and kisses him before shuffling into the kitchen and turning on the oven light. “Aaah, it looks really good! I’m so proud!” When he’s changed out of his work clothes and they sit down on the couch to eat dinner and watch a movie, Pat watches Griffin take the first bite, more than pleased with himself when Griffin groans, shaking his head and taking another bite right after. “Holy shit! This is spot on, Pat, oh my gah…” Griffin goes back for seconds and Pat mentally gives himself a gold star for boyfriend achievements. 

The movie ends and they head to bed, and Griffin asks if they can get back in the love couch. Pat grins and obliges, shifting around until they’re resting on each other like before, sideways in bed, facing one another. Pat drags his knuckles across Griffin’s stubble and they don’t speak for a while. Neither of them want to say they’re going to miss each other. It will only make them sad. Griffin finally speaks, hand rested against Pat’s hip, thumb rubbing absently under the hem of his shirt. “I’m so glad you got to be here, baby.” He tilts his head and rests his temple on Pat’s bony knee. “I’m really glad you got to meet my family.” 

Pat hums softly. “I’m glad I met them, too. I hope we get to do it again. I still… we’ve got to do something outrageous for Justin and Sydnee. I can’t believe I got to be here all of break with you.” 

Griffin laughs and nods, pulling Pat’s hand to his mouth to kiss his fingers. They fall silent. They never say “I’ll miss you”. They already know. They’re already dreading it. 

Pat shocks himself that it isn’t until they are in the airport and Griffin is kissing him goodbye that he starts crying. He tries not to think about how he won’t get to look at him or hug him or kiss him again like this for another six months. The fear he had had when first moving that maybe they wouldn’t last is all but gone, he feels sure they will still be together when summer comes, but it feels too far away to matter. Griffin squeezes onto him tightly and Pat weeps into his shoulder until Griffin has to leave or he’ll be late for work. Even as he’s the one insisting he has to go for the second time, Griffin doesn’t let him go just yet, stroking Pat’s hair and kissing his cheek, wanting just one more hug. It has felt like so much longer than three weeks and so much shorter, they had tried to cram making up for the last five months apart into a holiday, but it doesn’t work like that. They can’t make up any lost time, they can only move forward. 

They finally kiss goodbye one last time and when they turn away, neither turn back, sure that if they did, Pat would never get on the plane.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware that this and the next few chapters will deal with stalking, child abuse (both physical and psychological/emotional), mental illness in general, and a deeper look at depression, including suicidality. Also, some of this is going to come through a pretty ableist lens at first, but please bear with me; I don't intend to write this off as "crazy people are dangerous". This isn't all fiction for me? So I understand and encourage you to skip for a while if that's what's best for you. I promise, there's more of the sappy sweet stuff waiting on the other side of this arc. Take care.

Griffin is already regretting taking queer studies hardly two weeks in, sitting in bed with his laptop on his thighs and notes from class scattered around him. Papers are not his strong suit, and it looks like there are going to be a lot of them for this class, but he knows he won't drop it. 

When someone knocks at the door, he’s glad to hear Cody get it before he can try to start moving things around on the bed to get up. There are muffled voices for a while and he thinks maybe Cody had food delivered, or had a friend swing by, but then Cody pops his head into Griffin’s room, hooking a thumb back towards the living room. “Hey, uh, Pat’s mom is here?” 

His blood pressure spikes so quickly he hears his pulse slam in his ears like a heavy bang. Griffin’s guard goes up immediately, and he doesn’t quite understand why, but he trusts his instincts, shoving his notes aside and pushing past Cody into the living room. There is a petite woman with short brown hair standing in the middle of the room, both hands clasping the shoulder strap of her purse, and she looks older than he would expect. When he steps closer, he gets the bizarre impression that she has been in the same clothes for a few days, but is wearing perfume and a little too much makeup to try and mask it. If he didn’t know who she was, he’d think she seemed harmless, but he does know who she is, and he wishes she wasn’t there. 

“What?” It’s all he says, jaw tense, carrying himself as intimidatingly as he can, arms crossed tightly over his chest. 

She smiles and he sees something pass behind her eyes that are the same color as Pat’s. “You must be Griffin!” A freezing icepick of fear hits him when she says his name and he tries like hell not to show it, gritting his teeth. “I’m Pat’s mom, Suzanne. I’m really sorry to barge in on you like this--” She is performing disturbingly well, chipper and carefree, courteous, but Griffin knows just enough to not trust an ounce of it. It’s calculated to manipulate. 

“Pat doesn’t want to see you.” 

Suzanne purses her lips, but keeps up the innocent and perky act. “I don’t know what he’s told you about me, but all I want is to make sure he’s okay and--” 

“He’s fine, he’s been fine, and you need to fucking leave.” Cody has been standing awkwardly by the couch, taken aback by how hostile the situation had gotten and how quickly, but Griffin feels him now step a little closer, bigger than him and making use of it. 

The facade drops. Suzanne’s smile crumbles into a grimace and she looks ten years older. “Whatever he said about me, it’s a lie. He’s sick, he needs help. He needs me. I’m his mother.” 

“What he needs is for you to stay out of his life. Now **get out**.” Griffin raises his voice and points to the door but Suzanne isn’t listening. 

“Is he here?” She sounds frantic, like she hadn’t expected Pat to be at the apartment and now that she thinks he might be, she throws herself towards the hallway towards the bedrooms. Griffin catches her by the arms and starts to drag her towards the door. “Is he here?! Patrick? Patrick! Sweetie, it’s mommy!” 

Griffin is surprised how hard it is to get her to the door, Cody has to help. Cody’s trying not to actually hurt her and Griffin doesn’t give a shit if he does. “He’s not here, and you’re never gonna find out where he is, _bitch_.” Griffin works very hard to keep that meanness and anger dormant, it had gotten him into a lot of trouble a few years back, but at least it’s landing on a deserving target now. 

Suzanne plants her feet in the foyer and tears herself from Griffin’s grasp, shoving a finger in his face. “How _dare_ you?! There is _**nothing**_ a mother wouldn’t do to find her baby. He’s not well, whatever he told you, it’s a lie. He doesn’t know what he wants or what’s best for him. He left _his own mother_ , what makes you think he wouldn’t abandon _you?_ ” 

The smiling, charming act from before has dissolved completely into a seething, gasping, desperate ghoul. Of the few artifacts Griffin knew of Pat’s life before Austin, the description of his mother as a “terrifying evil psychopath” had felt like teenage hyperbole until now. Now he sees that it was quite accurate. Griffin yanks open the door and shoves Suzanne out onto the landing. “If you don’t fucking leave right now, and if you ever come back, I’m calling the cops. Do you understand that? Don’t ever come here again, don’t you fucking _dare_ try going after Pat.” 

He slams the door in her face as she is screeching that all she wants is to see her son, and he wishes he couldn’t hear her through the door. She keeps sobbing and trying to explain and beg until he yells through the door at her “You’ve got thirty second until I call the cops!” and, still sobbing and screaming, she stomps down the stairs and away from the apartment building. Griffin is shaking as he crosses the apartment and watches from the window as she gets into a car parked at the far end of the lot. She sits in it for a long moment without starting the engine and Griffin is about to get his phone to call the police when she finally backs out of the space and drives away. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, dude.” He turns to see Cody rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t--” 

“It’s fine. I didn’t think she’d come here.” Griffin’s heart is racing and he has to sit down and count his breaths. He feels like he might faint, adrenaline pounding through his veins. 

“Is everything cool, should I…?” Cody looks helpless and Griffin shakes his head. 

“Naw… naw, as long as she doesn’t come back, it’s cool. Sorry. Hey, you didn’t tell her anything, did you? When you opened the door, what did she say to you?” 

“Nothing, just who she was and that she was looking for Pat, and then she asked about you. She kept asking to come in the apartment, I told her no when I came to get you, dude. That lady is fucking nuts!” Griffin nods, satisfied that Cody hadn’t accidentally leaked Pat’s whereabouts, and Cody slips back into the living room. Griffin lays on his back in bed, fighting down panic until he can finally text Pat. He doesn’t know how to word it, tries a half dozen times, then calls him instead. When it goes to voicemail, Griffin thinks for half a second that maybe Suzanne has already found him, but he’s so glad that’s impossible. Pat is safe for now, but Griffin has to talk to him, has to tell him what happened. He doesn’t want to, he knows Pat completely shuts down when the subject of his family comes up, but this isn’t something either of them can ignore. Griffin texts him-- _please call me as soon as you can_ \--and after only a minute or so: 

**I’m at work. Is something wrong?**

_your mom was just here_

When Pat gets the reply, he feels like the floor drops out from underneath him. Nothing feels real and he can’t get his brain to function to tell his co-worker he needs to step out and take a call. He fumbles for words and finally sputters that it’s an emergency and she seems to catch the gist of the situation, going to take over his spot at the register as he hurries to the back of the shop and out into the alley, feeling like he’s going through a funhouse, like the walls are tilting and the ceiling is getting higher. The alley feels more like real life, the mild air feeling less suffocation than the warm store, the faint smell of garbage from the dumpster a few stores down bringing him a little more back to reality. 

Pat slumps down onto the pavement and calls Griffin, talking over him when he picks up. “Are you okay?” 

Griffin rubs the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I’m pretty shaken up, but I’m fine. How did she even know where I live?!” 

Pat huffs out a defeated sigh, leaning back against the rough brick building. “I don’t know… She might have hired a PI, I used our apartment address when I filed my taxes last year. I… honestly, I’ve kind of been waiting for this to happen.” 

Griffin chooses his words very carefully. “Is she… is she dangerous?” There is a very long pause and he can hear Pat start to cry. He feels nauseous with worry, his stomach constricting into a solid ball of anxiety. “Babe, do you think she’d try to hurt you?” 

Pat chokes on a sob and sniffs. “I don’t know, but I’m afraid she will. I don’t know what to expect from her at all, but, stable, harmless people don’t fucking travel two thousand miles looking for a kid that doesn’t ever want to see them.” 

“I know… that’s kind of what I was thinking, too.” Griffin’s heart aches as he sits in silences and listens to Pat sob, shushing him quietly and lying to him that everything will be okay. He has no idea if that’s true now. It had never occurred to him that Pat’s past might interfere with them anymore than just the memories of it, he had never expected someone Pat is so terrified of he couldn’t even tell Griffin why he is so afraid would show up on his doorstep. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” He doesn’t know what else to say. 

“No, _I’m_ sorry. I didn’t want you to have to deal with this shit. I’m so fucking sorry. What did she say to you? She always tries to worm her way in with people, make them feel bad for her.” 

“She screamed a lot about boo hoo, a mother needs to be with her child, and she said that you were sick? I don’t know what the fuck she was talking about, she told me you would abandon me like you abandoned her.” His tone is one of scorn, he hadn’t believed a word of it, but was disturbed that she clearly thought this tactic would work, that she could get on his side and get the information she wanted. 

He yanks the phone away from his ear when Pat starts screaming _“that crazy fucking evil **cunt!!!** ”_ and then he’s sobbing again, loudly. “God fucking dammit… you know I think she really believes it. When I tried to report her, she turned around and tried to have me committed, she told them I had these wild mood swings and hallucinated and shit, that the abuse was all just made up, and they fucking _bought it_ , when it’s _her_ crazy ass that--” He stop and lets out a frustrated, strangled scream, trailing off into tears. This is more than he has ever told anyone else before. 

Griffin feels so helpless, and just as he had suspected, it’s so much worse than he imagined. In his head, he’d hoped maybe Suzanne was at worst a mean drunk and they hadn’t gotten along and Pat just wanted to cut ties, that she had been the type to feel relieved that Pat was out of her life and to leave the past to the past. This felt like a parasite, like cancer. “Baby, please… even if she knows where you are, which, I don’t think she does, she wouldn’t have come here, there’s no way she can get there in less than a day. So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to finish your shift, or leave if you can, and you’re going to go to campus security and explain that someone is stalking you and give them her description. Okay? Make sure people at work know, too. You get ahead of it, and if she ever does figure out where you are, you have a buffer, and if she ever finds you, you call the cops. Don’t you have a restraining order against her? Is that still a valid thing in another state?” 

Pat cries himself out, weakly humming along to Griffin’s plan, which sounds like good ideas that make him feel a little more settled. “I did, yeah, but no, I don’t think it counts here, and I don’t want to file a new one now and have her get served with an LA county order, then she’ll know where to look.” 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll go by all your old jobs in the morning and make sure they know not to talk to her, either.” They sit in silence for a while and Griffin briefly considers driving all the way to California tonight, but he knows there isn’t anything he can really do when he gets there, other than hold Pat and try to make him feel safe. “Babe, I love you.” 

“I love you, too. Thank you… for not, I don’t know, for not bailing on me? I know this is awful.” 

Griffin winces to hear so much despair in Pat’s voice. “Patrick, I’m not going anywhere. Yeah, this fucking sucks, but it’s _her_ fault. I’m not letting you go through this alone. And hopefully, she never figures it out and we never fucking hear from her again, okay?” 

Pat chokes out a tearful laugh. “Please god I hope so, I hope she gets hit by a fucking bus.” 

They stay on the phone a little longer until Griffin is sure Pat’s okay. He makes Pat promise he’ll go to campus security as soon as he’s able and tells him he loves him before hanging up. Pat sits in the alley for a few minutes after the call is over and collects himself, drying his eyes and finally getting to his feet again and heading back inside. 

He must seem pretty convincing because when he tells Veronica that everything is fine, she doesn’t question him, leaving him to take back over the register. Pat finishes his shift and bikes back to his dorm, but when he thinks about having to go and explain everything to campus security, he just can’t convince himself to do it, not tonight. It’s only the night guard now, anyway, he’d rather do it when the office is officially open. The more he thinks about conveying the situation to someone else, the more he minimizes it to himself. It took her almost two years to figure out he’d been in Austin, she probably won’t figure out he’s in LA anytime soon. 

He lies to Prajit that he had a good night and then curls up in bed with the covers over his head and starts combing through his social media, trying to see if the leak had happened there. His Twitter and Instagram had been locked down from the start and he’s careful, either way, about what he posts. All the same, he goes through and sees if he mentions being back in Austin anywhere, but he doesn’t specifically say anything about Texas at all. After about an hour, he realizes there’s a public photo from New Year’s that he’s tagged in on their friend’s band’s Facebook page, which he untags himself from, and then logs out of Facebook to look at both his and Griffin’s profiles to ensure that no crucial information is visible to anyone that isn’t already a friend. 

The picture doesn’t explain how she had found Griffin’s apartment, though. It must have been a private detective. She had used one before, and most people were charmed by or pitied her concerned mother act and helped her. He hoped like hell that there weren’t any ties to find him now, not yet, but if she had used tax records, he would be filing taxes again soon, and now, he had to use an LA address. 

This was the worst part, having the constant possibility of her looming over his head. It was always there in the back of his mind, but now it felt like a knife to his throat. Whether she ever surfaced again or not, now it felt like it was only a matter of time before she came after him, and that feeling was enough, that feeling was the sequel to all the fear she had conjured up and stored in him as a kid. He really never would be rid of her until she was dead. Maybe she wouldn’t hurt him again, maybe all she really wanted was just to see him, to talk, maybe even to apologize, but Pat doesn’t care. If he could push a button and make her never exist, to have her disappear from the planet and all his memories, he would do it without hesitation or regret. 

Prajit is already asleep and all the lights in the dorm are out when Pat finally comes out of his blanket cave. He quietly goes to the bathroom to get ready for bed and resigns himself to definitely going to campus security in the morning. It’s a good idea, even if just for his own peace of mind, to have a buffer in place. Creeping back to bed, he texts Griffin goodnight and tries to sleep, desperate for some escape from the awful pit in his stomach, and hoping like hell it, like _her_ , doesn’t follow him into dreams.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're still under a heavy trigger warning advisory, and this one is all backstory, so if you've been unsure if you need to skip or not, this is likely the chapter to do so.

Pat could recite the whole story, every detail, by the time he was eight. It was the anchor of every fear or sense of hopelessness he had ever harbored, to know that the mistake of another person could take its toll from innocent lives, that one event spiralling from a stranger’s carelessness could affect his life so much before he was ever even born. Every year they would drive out to the country and Pat would help lay fake flowers and repaint the cross on the side of the road where it had happened. 

One car heading south at forty-five miles an hour, another swerving and jerking at well over sixty miles per hour in the northbound lane, crossing the centerline a few minutes past 7PM, colliding head-on. There had not been any time to brake. A medical examiner had confirmed the errant driver was well over the legal blood alcohol limit. The Mamas and the Papas had been playing on the radio, and there were no other cars out. Gramma Sheryl had been alive when Suzanne regained consciousness, but she nor her father could move, and by the time another car passed and an ambulance was called, she was gone. Grampa Avery never walked again, left with only limited mobility in his arms, and Suzanne, then only nineteen, suffered a traumatic brain injury. 

This was the story Suzanne told on the pilgrimage drives, or at the cross by the road, but also to Pat whenever she had to explain to him why Mommy got so upset, or angry, or why he couldn’t go here or do that or play this game, because her brain wasn’t right, and other people’s mistakes did not only affect themselves. She’d tell the story in diners to sympathetic waitresses or to other mothers at school, sighing woefully at how hard it was to be a single mother while also taking care of her disabled father. She relived the trauma again and again, it was the only thing that made sense to her, because everything that came after was misplaced and fuzzy and backwards, like the secretary of her memories had been replaced after the accident and the new one didn’t know where anything was supposed to have gone. 

This is not how Grampa Avery told the story. Grampa Avery--lying where he was always was, in his hospital bed in the downstairs bedroom--only said it was a horrible, awful thing that happened because shit happens and that’s what life is like, and then would puff on his cigarette while Pat held an ashtray under it to make sure he didn’t set anything on fire. Pat liked Grampa Avery’s version much better, it didn’t give him nightmares or excuse when Suzanne left bruises on his arm from grabbing it too hard. Grampa Avery told him many stories, both true and some a little less truthful, and they would play board games and do Pat’s homework together, and later in the evening, or sometimes on Saturday mornings, Pat would crawl up onto the bed next to Grampa Avery and they would watch TV for a while. When Suzanne screamed at Pat because she had no other way to express anything inside of her other than to scream, Grampa Avery was the one who would shout at her to leave him alone. It was Grampa Avery that convinced her to finally seek some professional help, and things got better for a while. 

After Grampa Avery passed away when Pat was almost twelve, before they sold the hospital bed and turned the room into storage, Pat would sometimes still sit beside it and remember all this favorite stories, and cry, and wish Suzanne was still getting help. She stopped going to her therapist after her father passed away, and things went back to the way they had been, and then they quickly became much worse. 

Threaded sparsely through his childhood, at birthdays and holidays and the occasional school play, was Aunt Diane. She had been the surrogate for her brother, his father, since he was six, and Pat hadn’t learned about the whole sordid situation until he was well into his teens. As a child, he had believed his mother, because that’s what children do, they trust that their parents and caretakers tell them the truth, or the version of it they need to be safe and happy, and so he had thought for a very long time that Aunt Diane was trailer trash and that she wasn’t to be trusted, and that she was mean to children and only acted like she was nice to him to gain his trust. This predator narrative was one he had been taught for just about everyone, but his mother really drove it home with Diane, painting her as a jobless probable drug addict, a bad influence, and in his childhood naivety, he believed it, and kept up his guard. 

When the screaming and the paranoia and the throwing of pots and pans and phone books became so much worse after Grampa Avery was gone, Pat started to question everything Suzanne had ever told him. On his fourteenth birthday, he managed to get some time alone with Diane, and confronted her about why she bothered to only show up a few times a year, why she was always there instead of his dad, why she cared at all. Diane cupped his face in her hands and started to cry, and told him that someone had to look out for him, and that she was doing the best she could. 

He trusted her because he had few other options, but she never let him down. Her response was Pat’s first validation that the way he lived was not normal, that what Suzanne did to him was abuse. For a long while, he hadn’t known any different, and when he started to discover otherwise, it was hard to blame her, knowing how broken Suzanne was, making it easy to minimize all the ways she hurt him. It had been his only reference point his whole life, but as it worsened, he could no longer justify or ignore just how bad it truly was. He put his faith in Diane, and for the next few years, they kept in secret contact. Diane bought him a cheap cellphone that he kept hidden, and whenever he had a safe moment alone, they would call and talk, and Diane told him the truth about anything he asked. 

He learned that his father, Mike, had only been dating Suzanne casually and that she had told him she was sterile, that it was related to the car accident, so they never worried about birth control. When she became pregnant, he offered to marry her, but Suzanne had gone from the doting, docile, loving young woman he’d been seeing for several months to a suspicious, hellish, paranoid stranger. She accused him of wanting her family’s money, of wanting to subjugate her and take their child away, and had broken up with him and ordered him never to contact her again. Mike left her alone through the pregnancy, but after Pat was born, he tried his best to come back into their life, to at least see the son he had never thought of having. On good days, Suzanne allowed him to come over and hold Pat and bring him toys, but she had strict rules about when and how long and they could never be out of her sight. After a year or two of this, he was relegated to only birthdays and a few holidays, and he had tried to take her to court for more custody, but he quickly ran out of money for legal fees, and settled for what time with Pat he could get. 

When Pat turned six and Mike saw bruises on his little arms, he made a big scene and told Suzanne he would call child services and she’d never see Pat again, but that threat died on the vine when Suzanne let him know in very plain terms that if he ever so much as phoned them again, she would tell the police he was molesting his son, that the bruises were from him, and no one would believe his word against hers. People always believed the mother, that was just natural order. 

Since then, Diane had been the only approved liaison, and Suzanne put on quite a show of apt motherhood for many years. Diane admitted to Pat later that for a long time, she had thought that perhaps there wasn’t any abuse, after all, that Suzanne was just eccentric and odd, and maybe she would have been, too, after a brain injury and losing her mother and taking care of her father now, as if she were the parent and him the child. Who was to say how people reacted to that sort of thing? She had cried and cried and apologized to him that she hadn’t done more sooner, that she hadn’t assumed the worst just for his sake. 

She eventually made it up to him, though. After the botched attempt at reporting Suzanne for abuse, when she had tried to have Pat committed for his severe depression and a host of other things she had fabricated just to shut him up, to cast doubt on his side of the story, Diane got some of Pat’s teachers to help make a case against Suzanne, and for nearly seven months, while Suzanne underwent psychotherapy and an investigation by child services, Pat was free. He still had to see her for supervised visits every weekend, but the rest of the time, he lived with Diane in her trailer with her husband and three dogs and lived without constant fear for the very first time. He slept in Diane’s sewing room and worked a part time job flipping burgers and got paid under the table to do data entry on the weekends at the hospice where Diane worked as a certified nursing assistant, saving up everything he could. Diane matched all his savings by half. They started working to make sure that he could be legally emancipated as soon as he turned seventeen, with a backup plan to try and get Diane legal guardianship if that fell through. 

All the things Suzanne had attributed to her lies about Diane became all the things Pat loved about her. She was a heavy-set woman with short, fire-red hair (sometimes magenta, sometimes bleach blonde, sometimes a little bit of everything), a missing bicuspid, and a thick rural Mainer accent, all of which Suzanne had presented as evidence of her slovenly, low-class, untrustworthy nature. No longer under Suzanne’s spell, Pat thought Diane was vibrant, and jovial, and the story of the missing tooth--the aftermath of some foiled rope-swing adventures deep in the woods--always made him laugh, especially when she told it in her emphatic, theatrical way, jewelry jingling as she talked with her hands and wide smile never wavering. She was the first person Pat came out to, the first person he had ever admitted his suicidal thoughts to or opened up emotionally to at all, and she supported him endlessly, and most importantly, she loved him. 

She packed his lunch before school and listened when he talked and they had long conversations together on the concrete patio behind the trailer, watching the pine forests get dark and the fireflies come out. He played video games with Diane’s husband and they ate dinner together like a family and went to the state fair--Pat’s first time--and when they argued, often about little things around the house, it was never mean, and they always found a solution, and they never stayed angry. They curled up on the couch together and watched old movies and Diane told Pat stories about his dad, marveling at how much Pat reminded her of him, and she didn’t scold him when he cried. She often cried with him, especially when they talked about Mike. Pat didn’t know that he had passed away several years before: a gas leak in the middle of the night. Suzanne had thought it best not to upset him, but Diane kept coming to birthdays and Candlenights, with presents. She refused to stop doing what little she could. 

When the investigation and mandatory therapy was over and the State of Maine determined Suzanne’s home was safe for him again, Pat sobbed for days, so sick with worry that Diane let him skip school on the final day with her. When he was back with Suzanne, he walked on eggshells. Suzanne acted elated at his return, fawning over him and bemoaning how awful it had been to endure such scrutiny and horrible false accusations, and Pat walled himself off and put up with the fakery for as long as he could, and was ready for it when the facade dropped, and her viciousness returned. Pat dug in and bore it, holding out for the plans he had made to finally come through, and two weeks after his seventeenth birthday, Aunt Diane texted the secret cell phone to let him know the court order had been approved. He was free. 

Pat threw everything of importance into a bag, pulled the one he’d kept packed and hidden out from under the bed, and waited for her to let him know she was close with the car. She couldn’t come directly to the house, Suzanne had filed a restraining order after she had regained custody of Pat, but he wasn’t going to take much. He could run down the street and once he was in Diane’s car, he was safe. He nervously sat at the window, watching for headlights and flicking Grampa Avery’s silver zippo lighter, the only relic from this house he would take, that meant anything good to him. The moment he got the text, he was off the bed and out the door. 

He would never know how she knew, but when he stepped out into the hall, she was waiting for him. 

“Where the _hell_ are you going?” Even a foot shorter than him, wearing just a nightgown, Pat still wasn’t any less afraid of her. He had hit six feet before he was fifteen and he still cowered from her. He knew, small or not, she was more than capable of hurting him, and an expert at getting under his skin, into his head. In that very moment, he considered giving up, telling her he didn’t know what he was thinking and just… biding his time? Wait until she croaked, or until she killed him? He wasn’t sure which was more likely. Just the thought of her eventually going too far, of not just ruining his life, but taking it, snapped him out of his ingrained fear, and he tried to push past her. 

“I’m leaving. I’ve got a court order, I don’t belong to you anymore.” He tried to put his bags between him and her, but she wrestled them away from him, throwing one over the banister and down into the foyer. He heard his laptop crack and winced, forcing himself to keep moving past her while she fumed and screamed. 

“I’m your _mother_! I _made_ you, I gave you _life_! You would _**abandon**_ me like that? _After all the things I’ve done for you?_ ” 

Something sharp and shiny went taut inside him at that. He could not resist it. The very thought of her casting herself as the self-sacrificing nurturer was so laughably insulting, he spun on the top stair and nearly spat in her face. “Everything you’ve _done_ for me?! Like keep me away from my dad? Like make me afraid to trust anyone and buy into every crazy conspiracy that you do? All the things you’ve done for me, like the time you hit me over the head so hard _I blacked out_? Or locked me in my room for two days straight? Or tell me every chance you get, that no one will ever love me like you do? That _this fucking **nightmare**_ you put me through is the best I’ll ever deserve?! Yeah, Suzanne, real fucking noble of you! A fucking _vision_ of maternal instinct!!!” 

It all flowed out of him, erupting like hot magma of hatred and pain, poison and acid. He was sobbing and screaming so hard his throat hurt, the dam that had held for ages now breaking and a loathsome flood rising up from the very bottom of him. He watched it hit her, watched the anger and sadness and then the flash of guilt, before she was hitting him, too, and he lost his grip on the railing and went end-over-end backwards down the stairs. 

He laid dazed at the bottom of the landing, her feet pounding down the steps bringing him out of it and as he began to sit up, she grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged him across the floor, toward Grampa Avery’s room. When they had converted it into storage, she had put a lock on it on the outside. Pat scrambled, reaching out and grabbing the wooden trim of the archway into the living room, holding on for dear life. She yanked until a clump of hair came free and Pat pulled himself up, in full flight mode, his eyes darting from her to his bags to the door. When she picked up a pair of scissors off the coffee table, he screamed, and ran back towards the kitchen, hoping he could make it to the back door. She cut through the laundry room and cut him off and Pat doubled back, racing to the front door again, but she had an advantage to both. She chased him around the first floor for several loops, until the front door flew open, and Diane’s friend from the sheriff’s department had his gun drawn on Suzanne. 

Pat learned later that he had been waiting at the bottom of the driveway since Diane had arrived, coming to supervise as a favor to Diane. He wasn’t actually on duty, but Suzanne didn’t need to know that. She dropped the scissors, tried to make up some story on the fly that Pat had threatened her, but all Pat had to explain was that he no longer had any legal obligation to stay, and Officer Layton helped him get his bags and escorted him from the house. Suzanne stood on the porch screaming and crying like a victim, but she didn’t leave the porch. The sound of her faded as Pat walked down the street, stiff-limbed and trembling, still scared out of his wits, and threw his things into the back seat of Diane’s Explorer, climbing up into the front, shell-shocked, and slowly realizing that he was safe. 

When Diane rolled down her window to talk to Officer Layton, they could still hear Suzanne wailing from the house. He leaned against the car and Diane put a hand on his arm, looking shaken, but relieved. “Thank you, Sal.” 

The officer shook his head, telling her it was no problem, before turning his attention to Pat. “Do you want to press charges?” 

Pat took a moment to register the question. The thought of Suzanne in jail whet his vindictive palate, but he shook his head. “No… no, I just want to get out of here.” 

Diane drove him down to Portland--they were afraid of Suzanne coming to the trailer--and they stayed in a cheap motel for the night. In the morning, Diane took Pat to withdraw all his savings, buy a few extra things he would need on his own, and then finally she took him to the bus station. They stood looking at the board of destinations for several minutes. Aunt Diane put a wad of cash in his hand discreetly. “I don’t know how far this will get you, but you go as far as you can,” she told him tearfully. 

Pat was already shaking his head, trying to give her back the money. “No, I can take care of it. I can probably afford to get to, I dunno… Tennessee?” 

Diane hugged his arm to her side, sniffling. “Please, let me do this for you. You hold onto the money you’ve got. You’re gonna need it, honey.” She asked for the secret cell phone back, her mascara now running. “I don’t wanna know where you end up. If I know, she’ll find out somehow. Don’t call me, don’t write… you just live your best life, okay, Patty?” On the bus as he was crossing the river into New Hampshire, Pat realized that he had never told Aunt Diane how much he loved her, but he kept his promise, and he had not tried to contact her since he left. 

It feels useless now, looking at the flyer stapled to a telephone pole. They are scattered all around campus. There had been one just two blocks from his dorm. He had been completely estranged from the only family that he cared about for over two years to avoid this, and it is here, anyway. 

It leaves an eerie, hollow feeling inside him to see himself on missing posters. The number listed for any information about him has a Maine area code. He has to admit that it’s a very good setup, to make it seems as if a worried loved one is looking for him, essentially creating a hotline of information from unsuspecting people just trying to do a good thing, having no idea they’re helping an abusive mother seek out a son that’s gone to every length to escape her. 

A classmate had seen the posters on her morning jog and called Pat first. He was thankful she had been suspicious, but he can’t be sure if anyone else might fall for the ruse. He and Prajit and a few other people from the dorms set out to find the posters and take them down, with a little help from campus security. So far no one had seen them being put up, and Pat wonders if maybe she isn’t actually in LA, maybe she paid someone to put the posters up, maybe she only has a hunch and doesn't know for sure he’s here. 

After Suzanne had showed up in Austin six weeks prior, Pat started seeing a free therapist through the student health center upon Griffin’s insistence. It is rarely the same person, and they are only certified, not licensed, and some are psychology grad students, but they are helping. After years of keeping an iron door pulled across his past, it is surprisingly freeing to bring it up, to let it go and process it and not treat it as some forbidden psychic territory, giving it more power than it deserves. He has even begun to tell Griffin some of it, though he leaves out many of the details. He knows it hurts Griffin to think about the shit he was put through, but Pat feels that especially after having to deal with Suzanne in person, Griffin deserves the truth. 

One question that comes up in therapy a lot is, what would he do if he was confronted with his mother again? He doesn’t really know, the thought of it fills him with so much anxiety and dread, but he tries to think it out in the safe space of the dim, quiet office, and hopes he might calmly tell her to leave him alone, that he would call campus security or even the police and let them deal with her and remove himself from the situation. He thinks, maybe if she ever did find him, he won’t give her the satisfaction of his pain, to know she holds so much over him still, and might just walk away. He likes this scenario the best, though it’s the least probable, if he’s honest. His worst fear is that he would give in and even forgive her, that the effort of pushing her away is so exhausting, he would just let her win. 

Theorizing about their possible reunion has helped him fear it less, but of all the times he’s postulated about his reaction, as he hears his name from across the courtyard, walking his bike to class with a bag stuffed full of torn-down flyers, this one is a surprise. 

It’s _**rage**_. Seething, burning rage, his ears go hot and his hands go numb, every muscle tenses and his veins surge pure hatred. He’s sure he’s shooting flames out of his pores when he hears it again, closer: “Patrick, is that you?” 

He should have known better, either from her persistent, unrelenting evil, or his own cursed bad luck, that he would never really be free of her. Not until one of them was dead, and maybe even then, who knew. She says his name again as she comes closer, walking faster, and the rage steels his nerves. Very slowly, reaching for his phone which has been in his pocket dialed with 911 and ready to hit call all morning, Pat turns around.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings still apply, but there's only one more chapter in this arc before we're back on course with the sweet stuff.

It hurts worse that he can tell she really did miss him, putting her hands over her mouth as he turns around and she gets a good look at him for the first time. She’s twenty feet away and Pat puts a hand out, shouting louder than he’d meant to, “Stop!” A few heads turn and Suzanne’s brows furrow down over her nose as she slows, but keeps walking towards him. Pat lets go of his bike and it clatters onto the brick path, both hands out in front of him now. “I said stop! Don’t you dare come near me!” 

She finally halts, about ten feet away, looking wounded, like he’s the one that hurt her. It makes him even angrier. “Patrick… sweetheart, it’s so good to see yo--” 

“Why the fuck are you here? I never wanted to see you again, _never!_ ” He knows this doesn’t look good from an observer’s point of view, she’s calm and frowning and he’s vibrating with rage, but he doesn’t care, even as more people stop to watch the display. 

Suzanne takes a step closer to him and Pat holds up his phone like a weapon. “I swear to god, I will call the fucking cops. You put up missing posters?! Do you even realize how _twisted_ that is?” 

Suzanne’s bottom lip trembles. “Pat, you _were_ missing. You just left me without a word, you ran away! I had no idea where you were, if you were safe--” 

“Safer than I ever was with you! I didn’t run away, I fucking **escaped**. Why do you always do this? Why do you always act like I’m the crazy one? Like you didn’t fucking beat me and lock me away and terrorize me?” 

He sees something very close to remorse pass her face and he hates it. He wants her to be evil, he doesn’t want her to be human. It’s so much easier when she’s a monster and not someone that part of him still loves and hopes good things for. It hadn’t been hell all the way through. There were good memories, though sullied, that were anchored just as deep in him as the horrors, and they glimmered with doubt. She isn’t just a monster, and he hates her more for it. Suzanne crosses her hands over her heart and looks away, ashamed. “I was sick…” 

Pat lowers the phone and feels hot tears meet at his chin and drip down. “I know you were. That doesn’t change what you did to me.” 

His guard lowers just an inch and she comes closer, searching his face, trying to read his tears. “I wish I could take it all back, Patrick…” 

“Well you can’t. I wish I could forget every bit of it, but I can’t. I still have nightmares. I’m still afraid of you hurting me.” She’s right in front of him now and he isn’t sure if he’s standing his ground or paralyzed. 

“I won’t hurt you anymore, my baby, I promise.” 

Pat laughs in her face. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a crumpled handful of flyers. “This? It doesn’t leave bruises, but this is hurting me. You’ve made me feel hunted, I don’t trust you. You showed up at my boyfriend’s fucking house?! I don’t care how sorry you are, some shit doesn’t paint over.” 

Her hand comes out to take his and the moment she touches him, he reacts as if her skin is molten lead, wrenching himself away and leaping back, wild-eyed and throwing the flyers up in a flurry of paper. “Don’t! Don’t you fucking touch me!” 

There’s a small crowd around them now and he can see two campus security officers at the far end of the courtyard heading their way. He lowers his voice and he’s glad that she’s crying now. He hopes it hurts like hell, he hopes it’s tearing her apart inside. “You can use whatever excuses you want, Suzanne, but you fucking abused me. I’ll never forgive you for that, I’ve earned hating you this much.” A brief pause, but he presses on. “I tried to kill myself twice when I was living with you, that’s how bad I wanted to get away from you, and you never even knew it. I was fucking thirteen the first time, and I’m glad now that I didn’t die, but I fucking wish you’d ever really know how much you ruined me. You have no idea what it’s like to be ready to die and then don’t.” 

Suzanne wails, begging for him to stop talking, but Pat gets it all out, all the shit he’s had weighing him down, and this time, she doesn’t get to hit him for it. This time, she gets escotred away in zipties and he files another restraining order. When it’s over, Pat pulls up the hood of his jacket, embarrassed by the stragglers still watching his drama unfold, and skips class. 

He goes back to his dorm room and begs Griffin to Skype with him. He needs to see his face, needs to hear his voice. Griffin is on his lunch break from work and sits in his car to call. Pat is sitting cross-legged on the bed with the laptop at the foot and he barely gets out the gist of the story before he doubles over, face buried in his hands, and sobs for nearly ten minutes straight. It twists Griffin’s gut like a knife, knowing he can do nothing but watch, cooing softly and feeling helpless, and most of all, afraid. A restraining order is no guarantee that Suzanne will stay away, and neither of them are convinced she won’t get violent. He’s late to get back to work, but he doesn’t care, sitting with Pat and trying to comfort him, even if it’s all platitudes. 

“Baby, I miss you so much… I’m so fucking sorry, is there anything I can do?” 

Pat sits up, cried out and exhausted, wiping his face. “I wish you were here… I just… I need you. I wish none of this was happening.” 

Griffin gets a call from work which he ignores, realizing he’s now half an hour late. “Pat…” His heart hurts and he feels afraid that if he hangs up with Pat, something bad might happen, like he has to stay in constant contact and know everything is okay. But there’s still more than this to think about. There’s their future together. There’s the job that’s calling for the second time now that he needs to keep so he can save money for when he moves and they can live together again. “Buddy, I have to go. I’m really late for work.” Pat looks hollowed out and distant, nodding and picking at the bed sheets nervously. “Baby, I love you so, so much. I’ll call you as soon as I get home, okay?” 

By the time Griffin gets off work, Pat is asleep. For the next few days, Pat ghosts him, and while he understands why, it is what Griffin has been afraid of. This has happened before, when Pat’s emotional meter either swings to overload or completely void. He shuts down, psychically quarantines himself. This time, though, Griffin can’t physically put himself in front of Pat and make him engage, make sure he doesn’t let himself wallow in misery and sink deeper into a bad place, make sure he is taking care of himself. For over a week, they maintain little more than good morning and goodnight texts, and then even that starts to fade. It hurts at face value, but Griffin constantly worries that Pat isn’t responding because something awful has happened. 

Almost two weeks after Suzanne had first arrived in LA, she shows up again at Pat’s work. He finds out after the fact that she had been waiting at the Starbucks across the street for hours until he showed up for his shift. He hasn’t even clocked in yet before she comes into the store, begging him to listen to her, to let her explain herself. His co-worker puts herself between him and Suzanne while he goes into the office at the back of the shop and locks the door, calling the police. He’s exasperated on the call, his voice dull and monotone, simply reporting it as a restraining order violation and that his stalker is at his work place. When the call is over and he is assured a patrol car will arrive shortly, he walks back out to the front of the shop and stalls. If she knows the police are coming, she’ll bolt, and he wants her arrested. He wants her to know he isn’t fucking around. 

He lets her try to win him over with promises about how if he comes home, she’ll be so much better and it will never be like it was, that she’s different now, and if he likes school out here then maybe she’ll buy a little house and he can stay with her instead of sleeping in his tiny dorm, and he does nothing but hold her attention, numb and not listening, until two officers come into the store, assess the situation, and arrest her. Pat is cold and collected, so unlike when she had found him two weeks ago. Suzanne tries to wheedle her way out of the arrest, but Pat has a copy of the restraining order on him for them to reference, quick and accessible proof that she’s breaking the law just by being in the same building as him, and when she starts to make a scene, they cuff her. 

She is sobbing when they read her her rights, begging Pat to drop the charges, to reverse the order and give her a chance. “I have nothing without you! I’ll _die_ without you! I’ve been dying since you left!” 

Pat shrugs. “That’s not my problem.” 

She is such a sobbing mess the two officers have to practically carry her out and Pat feels a dull sense of satisfaction. His conscience whispers worries to him that she has been so badly wounded by his rejection, but he ignores it. She deserves every micron of pain she might derive from him shutting her out. It isn’t his responsibility, he owes her nothing. 

He is not unaffected by her intrusion, he can feel himself growing weary and stretched thin--in a literal sense as much as an emotional one, he has spent the last two weeks often forgetting to eat and possessing no appetite whatsoever--but he is detached from it, a wall of foggy void around the inner core of his awareness locked tight to protect him from really facing all the baggage of her. He still has to work, he still has school. Midterms are next week. He can’t have a full fucking breakdown right now just because she decided he owed a nanosecond of his time to her, that she deserved any of his energy to listen to her hollow apology. 

Even if she is sorry, if she is truly heartbroken over what she had done, even if she is willing to do anything to make it up to him, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want her apology. He wants peace. Nothing will ever carve out all the scar tissue and neurotic conditioning and the instinctual fear and self-loathing, and what’s worse, he knows that even if it were possible, it would leave him so hollow that its absence would be just as horrific. The trauma makes up a vast majority of his personhood, and to be left with the emptiness, understanding how much of him has always been pain and fear and sadness, would hardly be worth the effort. He would rather pave over it and try to grow something better from it than have to start all over. He wants nothing from her but silence, and if she really loves him like she claims, would do anything to make it up to him like she promises, then she’ll let him live in peace. He isn’t holding his breath for that to happen. 

He can feel the boiling black clouds just outside the safe, numbing walls around his awareness start to build, and he wonders when they’ll breach his little psychic fortress of coping, hopes it’s at least until after midterm exams. Prajit is at a night class, but there’s a box on Pat’s bed when he gets back to their room. He and Griffin had agreed to limit their care packages this semester, they need to really pinch every penny, but Griffin has made an exception in light of current circumstances. 

Pat changes into some pajamas and microwaves himself some soup before sitting down to open the package, sipping hot broth and star noodles from a mug while he sorts through the items. The usual two loaves of rosemary bread, wrapped in cling wrap, and a folded, handwritten love letter, several pages this time, sealed with a holographic heart sticker. There is a tupperware container of Pat’s favorite butterscotch cookies, a flameless lavender scented candle, and Griffin’s DVD of Willow, one of their favorites to watch together. There is also, tucked into the bottom of the box, a stuffed toy fox. Pat lifts it out of the box and holds it up under its armpits. 

It has the body design of a teddy bear, but the markings of a fox and a longer snout and diamond shaped face. The shiny black eyes have gold flakes hiding in the dark resin that catch the light. The limbs, tail, and head are stuffed with fluff, but the body is filled with heavy plastic beads like a beanbag, giving it a nice weight and making its tummy sag out in a little pooch. The fur is incredibly soft and Pat hugs the fox, nuzzling his cheek against its fur, and squeezes it tighter when he realizes it smells like their apartment, and like Griffin. It almost makes him cry, worming its way past his psychic defenses, making him feel both sad and comforted all at once. 

He sits the fox in his lap and opens the letter, reading it slowly while he eats the rest of his soup. He never scans over Griffin’s letters, like he does with most text. He takes in each word carefully, sometimes reading over a sentence several times. The letters are special to him in a way he can’t fully articulate, and he savors them. 

_Pat,_

_I know you’re going through a lot and I’m trying to give you your space, but if I can’t be there in person, I wanted to send you a little help. I worry about you so much and it’s killing me not being with you right now. I try to tell myself, we’re halfway through! but every second apart is suffocating, especially right now when all I want to do is wrap my arms around you and do whatever I can to keep you safe and grounded. I know that’s not my job, but I can’t help wanting to do it, anyway, because I love you. It’s wearing on me heavy being so far away with everything going on, but I keep crossing my fingers you’ll be okay and everything will turn out fine, and in three months (!!!!! It’s only three more months!!!!!) we’ll have our own place together, and I don’t think I’m going to let you out of my sight for more than twenty-four hours at a time for the first, oh, forty years or so. This being apart shit is rough, I’m over it._

_Since I can’t keep you safe at night, I found a little buddy who can. I haven’t named him yet, but I slept with him a few nights and Cecil made biscuits on him, so he’s got a full tank of love and positive energy for you. Hopefully it smells like me and not tuna breath? Cecil might have licked him a little…_

_I can’t stress how… well, stressed I am right now. I don’t want to worry you with all the awful possibilities that have popped into my head about a thousand times a day for the last few months, but I hope nothing bad happens to you. I hope she disappears and you can move on. It tears me up to see you hurting like this, and I don’t know what kind of threat she poses to you, either directly, or just being around and bringing up all the terrible shit from before. I love you so much and I want the best for you, I think you deserve every good thing in the world. Please, please take care of yourself, and please, don’t feel like you can’t reach out to me. I might be useless, but I’m always here for you. There isn’t much I can do, but just sitting on the phone and knowing at least while you’re talking to me you’re okay makes me feel so much better. I can’t pretend like once I’m there and we’re settled in our own place and have each other again that everything will magically be fine, but I promise I’ll do everything I can to make it better. If you need space, I’ll give you space. If you need a hug, I got a million with your name on ‘em. If you need love, never forget I have a boundless ocean of it for you, Patrick, and I don’t think that will ever change. I know it’s unrealistic to think I can always make you happy, but I at least want to make sure you always feel loved and safe, and maybe even make you smile. Are you smiling now? I hope so._

_Please promise me you’ll take care of yourself? Lavender is supposed to be soothing, so I hope that helps, and maybe in the long run all that sugar is counterintuitive, but I’ve never been sad while eating a cookie, so…_

_I love you more than I could possibly ever put into words, you’re easily the best thing in my life, and I’m always, always thankful for you, and wishing the best for you._

_Yours,  
Griffin_

Pat is crying halfway through the first paragraph, but it feels cleansing. He feels much more sturdy after, drying his eyes and squeezing the fox, the static that has been buzzing through his brain for days quieting now. He rubs the pages between his fingers gently, a tornado of butterflies briefly gusting through his chest, overwhelmed with gratitude for having Griffin in his life, feeling like he might burst with love for him, and then the sensation settles, and his shoulders relax, and he thinks that maybe everything will actually be okay. He doesn’t have to carry it all alone. 

Pat arranges the box’s contents on the bed and snaps a photo, texting it to Griffin. 

_How/why are you so amazing? I was having the shittiest day and this made it so much better._

Pat gets up to rinse his soup mug and put away the bread, tucking the letter away with the others in their own special box on his bookshelf. He sits down and opens up the cookies, eating two, then three, and his phone buzzes with a call from Griffin. They haven’t actually spoken in days, Pat’s been too walled off. 

He answers this time. “Hey baby.” 

He hears Griffin sigh, relieved, and then in his voice he can hear him smile. “Hey yourself.” 

Pat asks Griffin about his day and lays back with the fox hugged against his chest, listening to him rant and gripe about work and an irritating girl in one of his classes and being stressed about exams, realizing how much he missed his voice even after only a few days. Pat keeps prompting Griffin to talk more, wanting to listen to him both to stave off having to talk about this afternoon, and because he’s felt like the last few months has been focused on him. He wants to make sure Griffin isn’t being neglected, even if he’s bad about becoming very myopic in his own crises. 

When Griffin does finally run out of things to say and asks how Pat is doing, Pat is quick to skirt the issue, blowing off the afternoon as a brief and quickly resolved complication. Griffin’s temper spikes and Pat tries to avert too much energy going into it. “She’s in jail, Griffy, don’t let her get you worked up, she’s not fucking worth it.” 

“I know… I know, I just… I fucking hate her for what she did to you. For what she’s _doing_ , how the fuck does this seem like an okay thing to do to you?” 

Pat frowns, tucking the soft face of the stuffed fox into the crook of his neck. “I don’t know. Because she’s… she’s not right. I think that makes it harder, knowing she does have a pretty good excuse for acting so fucking irrational, but it doesn’t… it doesn’t make it any less scary, or stressful. It sucks, just the whole thing, it really sucks.” 

Griffin puts his anger aside to sympathize with Pat, asking if Diane had gotten back to him. After Suzanne first showed up in LA, Pat had contacted her, no longer having any reason not to. He’d found her on Facebook and sent a long message, explaining everything that had happened. It took a few days, but she did finally reply, expressing relief and happiness to hear from him, and to hear that, current issues aside, he was doing quite well. She promised him she would keep an eye out for when Suzanne got back to Maine, they both believed she had to run out of money soon, and was likely deterred by the restraining order to pursue him much further, at least for now. 

Their conversation dwindled until they were both lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, just listening to one another on the other end. It was the calmest Pat had felt in over a month. He’d been skipping yoga and meditation classes lately. If he wasn’t in class or at work, he was usually sleeping, too exhausted and worried to function much beyond a few priorities. He feels guilt he had pushed Griffin away in that, but this is a good reminder that he doesn’t have to, that as much as the little nagging voices in his head try to convince him he is a burden, Griffin wants to be there for him, even if it is only in silence like this, and Pat needs that, needs _him_. 

After a while, Griffin reluctantly admits he needs to get to sleep. Pat realizes how long they’ve been talking and that it’s very late in Austin. They exchange I love you’s and Pat wishes Griffin good night. Deep down, he just knows somehow that Suzanne isn’t finished, but he feels more grounded and ready to deal with whatever she might throw at him next. Even over a thousand miles away, he has Griffin, and knowing that makes him feel like whatever happens, somehow, he’ll make it through.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of the trigger-warning-heavy arc (thank fuck). For those of you, like me, who had a hard time slogging through this subject matter, I hope your abusers end up where they belong: in the damn trash.

Griffin’s nerves are frayed to bits. The last time he’d talked to Pat, their Skype had ended abruptly when Pat had a visitor at the dorm and he told Griffin he would call him back in a while, but that had been two days ago. He couldn’t get Pat to answer or text him back. He had been so freaked out, he tracked down Pat’s roommate on Facebook to ask if he knew if Pat was okay, but all Prajit knew was that a uniformed LA county sheriff had showed up asking for Pat, and if Pat had been back at the dorm since, Prajit had missed him. Griffin tries his best not to dwell, for all he knows the officer had just been there for a follow up on the restraining order and maybe Pat had gotten busy or slumped back into a depressive cycle, losing track of time and not checking his phone. He tries so hard not to let his mind race with all the horrible possibilities, but they plague him mercilessly. 

By the time Pat finally calls him back, Griffin is sleep-deprived and has a stomach full of knots. He can’t help the anger that bubbles up as he answers the call, walking between classes. “Where the hell have you been?!” 

“Griffin… I’m so sorry, I--” 

“Do you know how fucking worried I’ve been about you? I had no idea what happened, I thought your mom had showed up, I honestly worried you might be fucking dead. I almost started calling hospitals and morgues, Patrick!” That is technically a lie. He actually _had_ called one hospital, but hung up before he got through to an administrator, telling himself he was being paranoid, and too afraid to find out this way that something had actually happened. Pat is very quiet and Griffin hears a little sniffle, letting out a big sigh and dropping himself onto a bench, his backpack toppling over next to him on the sidewalk. “I’m sorry for yelling… but you scared the shit out of me. What happened, where have you been?” 

Pat worries at his bottom lip, not sure where to start. “Um… I just… I don’t really know how to talk about it, Griffin.” 

A ripple of anger again, met thankfully with exhaustion, dying out quickly. “Babe… look, I need to know what’s going on or I’m gonna have a fucking stroke. Are you okay?” 

Pat stutters. “I mean, uh, I-I-I… no. No, n-not really.” 

“Are you _safe_?” 

Griffin hears Pat start to cry and any residual anger leaves him completely, replaced with the aching longing to just hold him. Pat sniffs and nods, then realizes they’re only on a voice call. “Yeah. I’m at least safe.” He sniffles again and wipes his eyes. “It’s just been… it’s been the fucking weirdest couple of days, nothing feels totally real right now. I’m supposed to go meet with a lawyer again later, and then I have to sign some shit at the morgue--” 

Griffin nearly chokes, sitting up, as if from here he could spring into action for Pat. “What?” 

Pat hugs his knees to his chest, trying to get the words out that feel like bile and that he still hasn’t fully processed as real. “Suzanne killed herself. She left a note and everything.” 

Griffin doesn’t have anything to say about that for a long moment. “That’s… um… that’s--” 

“It’s fucking _great_ , Griffin. It’s a _relief_ , and I feel like absolute shit thinking of it that way, but it’s the truth.” He sighs. “She can’t ever fucking hurt me again, I don’t ever have to look over my shoulder wondering when she’ll find me… so why am I so fucking sad?! Why do I feel so guilty?” 

Griffin resigns himself to probably missing class and settles in on the bench. “Baby… how did-- I mean, she didn’t--” He doesn’t know how to ask it, but Pat gets the general point. 

“Jumped off the pier at Venice Beach. Some morning joggers found her… it took like three days to ID her and they found the hotel she’d been staying in. That’s where the note was, and then they came and got me to come um… to identify the body.” 

“Oh Jesus…” 

“Yeah. It was… It was so fucking weird. I didn’t want to look. I almost lied and said it wasn’t her. I wish I had now, because I have to deal with the cremation and shit and--” 

“What?! They can’t just make you do that, can they? I mean, what do they do with unidentified bodies?” 

Pat takes off his glasses and squeezes the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know, but there’s all kinds of laws about body disposal and shit, and when I identified her, I sort of sold myself out, ‘cause I’m the only family she has left, so I’m stuck being responsible for her.” 

“Fuck… we don’t have the money for that! Shit! That’s not fair! Isn’t there a way they can use her own funds to pay for it?” The panic comes back and Griffin’s fingertips are tingling. He just wants to go home and sleep for a week. 

“That’s what the lawyers are for. And apparently there’s money? Like, money Grampa Avery left us that I never knew about. Aunt Diane’s helping me on her end with the banks in Maine and the lawyers are talking to each other. The house is probably going to wind up being mine, too, but… I don’t want it. I… honestly, Griffy, I don’t know if I want the money, either. I just… I don’t want anything from her.” 

Griffin mentally sifts through all this new information. It feels like a television drama, not shit that happens in real life, but, as he had learned quickly over the last few months, that was Suzanne. “Babe… I… I trust you to do whatever is right for you, but… even if it’s just a few thousand, babe, we _need_ that money. That could mean a lot of security for us, especially if it takes me a while to find a good job once I move.” 

“I know…” 

“That could be the one good thing she ever did for you.” 

“It’s more than a few thousand, buddy. It’s… like it’s kind of a lot, especially if I get to sell the house on top of that.” Pat chews his lip, the little stuffed fox cradled between his thighs and his chest. 

“Babe,” Griffin sighs, conflicted on if he should even say this. “I don’t… I don’t want to sound like a vulture, but… that could be our future. We’ve spent so much damn time worrying about money, that could be our safety net.” 

“You’re right, I know… I don’t think I could ever really just reject it. I just… feel gross about it. I think I’ll probably donate a good chunk of it. But the lawyers said it will be slow getting it to me, anyway. I don’t really understand all the legal stuff that ties it up or whatever.” 

“I think donating some of it is a really good idea, baby. How are you… I mean, how are you doing?” 

Pat flops back in bed, groaning. “I don’t even fucking know. There’s so much going through my head, and I start classes back on Monday. Thankfully my professors have all been really understanding, it’s pretty amazing how much slack “dead mom” will get you.” He winces, not thinking about it before it had come out of his mouth. Griffin’s mother had died two weeks before the end of Griffin’s senior year of high school, he knows exactly what that’s like. Thankfully, Griffin huffs a little, agreeing. “I’m like… I’m relieved and I feel really vindicated on one hand? But then I’m… so angry at her. Her note pretty much blatantly blamed me for ripping her heart out and pushing her to the edge, which is fucking _rich_ considering how many years I spent being suicidal because of her bullshit. And I’m…” The tears come on heavy and sudden and he has to just let them come for a moment before he can speak again. Griffin coos to him softly and waits for him to continue. “I’m fucking sad, because even though I don’t really think it would ever happen, or that I would have forgiven her or wanted anything from it? But now there’s no fucking chance she’ll ever make it up to me. She never really admitted to what she did, you know?” 

Griffin can’t start to put himself in Pat’s place, but he thinks he can understand that. “Maybe… maybe in some fucked up way, though, this is how she… finally gave you peace? She’ll never hurt you again, Pat. Once you start to heal from this, that’s it. No more new wounds.” 

“Yeah… yeah, maybe.” Pat picks a loose thread from the hem of his shirt nervously, wishing he could stay on the phone with Griffin forever, a permanent resident of the limbo from real life that is their conversations. It’s the only solace in being apart, that when they do get to talk, it feels like a bubble universe separate from everything else they get to inhabit for a while, safe together and shielded from stress and school and work and the distance between them. “Hey, I have to go, I’ve got a meeting with the lawyer in half an hour, and then I have to go--I have to sign over her body to the funeral home.” 

It feels especially heavy when Pat puts it that way, and Griffin knows the feeling all too well, that death, even when confronted head on like this, still feels so surreal. The practical aspects of it are almost absurd in their mundanity. “Okay. Be safe, baby, all right? I love you so much, call if you need me.” 

“I will. Griffy?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you. Just… thank you.” 

Griffin isn’t sure he knows what for, but he goes along with it anyway. “Of course, bud.” 

Pat spends the next couple of hours pretending he understands what the lawyer is explaining to him, but he at least gets the gist of it that all of the expenses left to be paid--the cremation, the hotel, the legal fees, etc--will come from Suzanne’s current bank accounts. Pat doesn’t have to pay a dime, which is a relief, and the rest of the money that is now rightfully his will come… eventually. There isn’t anyone left in their family to contest his inheritance, but there are still legal hoops to go through, and he’s happy to let the lawyers do it and take their fees from the money once it’s finally in his possession. The house is more complicated, but Aunt Diane has promised to help. It’s a big old Victorian in fair condition, he’s sure it will sell quickly, he just personally doesn’t want to ever set foot in it again. 

When the funeral home calls a day later to let him know Suzanne’s ashes are ready to be collected, in their soft, monotonous tones of calculated condolences he doesn’t need or want, he thinks about just… not picking them up. Leaving her to collect dust on a shelf. No resting place. But he doesn’t want to cause any trouble for the funeral home, they’ve been nice enough, so he takes an Uber over to pick up the strangest box he’s ever held, and then walks almost two miles to Venice Beach. He hadn’t known what he wanted to do with the ashes, but he sure as hell isn’t going to keep them. He figures scattering them where she had died is as good a place as any. 

He walks out towards the end of the pier, but the further he gets out over the water, hearing the waves slap against the wooden pillars below and the wind howl through the beams, a tight fist closes around his throat. By the time he gets to the end, all he can think about is how this had been her last walk, that she had clambered over the railing probably right where he stood, facing west out over the endless Pacific, and jumped. He wonders how long she had lived, the fall certainly wasn’t lethal, but he knows from experience that the waters here are cold even in summer. Had it shocked her as she plunged into the waves, had she sucked in a lungful of icy brine the moment she was under? Or had she struggled and tried to make it back to shore? She’d jumped at high tide and was found as it was nearly all the way out, he knows that much. The part of him that feels justified in its bitterness hopes it hadn’t been painless or easy for her. 

He opens the box and the plastic bag of fine grey ash seems fake. It could be anything. It’s nothing anymore. Just ash. He feels like he’s supposed to do something, to say something or feel solemn or sacred, but nothing about this seems funerary. There are a few old men fishing off the pier, some tourists taking photos. Nobody knows there’s what left of a woman in the box sitting on the railing of the pier. Pat starts to pull the bag open and the winds change, and he realizes how beautiful this spot really is. The pier is a bit of an eyesore, but the beach is nice here, and the ocean is dark lapis and goes on for ages. 

He gets the bag open and the wind carries a smokey trail of ashes out towards the waves, and a sudden impulse hits him, and Pat takes the box and shoves it into the nearest lidded trashcan and walks away. 

He makes it back over the water and towards the beach when he has to stop and sit down, gasping for air he’s laughing so hard, left with no other reaction for the rush of relief and the darkly appropriate nature of his impulsiveness. He’s laughing and sobbing and he wishes Griffin were here, or Aunt Diane, someone else who knows Suzanne deserves to sit with rotting fish bait and half eaten corn dogs and be carried off to rest in a landfill, but it’s just him, sitting on a bench by the beach, laughing his head off and crying at the same time. It feels so good, it feels liberating. She’s only ash now, none of it matters. 

When he’s finally laughed and cried himself out, Pat calls Aunt Diane. She answers on the second ring and he can tell she’s driving, the sound of open windows and pop radio in the background. “Hey, Patty-Whack!” He hates that nickname from anyone else, but when she says it, it’s always endearing. 

“Hey Auntie D. Um. I got rid of Suzanne today.” 

“You got rid of her?” The windows in the car roll up and the radio gets turned off. “You scattered her ashes?” 

“I, um… I threw them away. In the trash.” 

There is a moment of silence and he thinks she’s going to shame him, but then she’s laughing like he had, loud and cackling. He hears her beating the steering wheel with the heel of her hand, her bracelets jangling. “Good riddance! Oh! Good for you, honey!” 

Pat rubs the back of his neck. “Really? You don’t think she’ll, I dunno, haunt me? ...I’m not even sure if it’s legal.” 

“Honey, you put her right where she belongs. And what does it matter? It’s not like there’s any comin’ back from where _she_ went.” 

Pat isn’t sure if she means death or something more esoteric. He doesn’t really believe in any of that, but he holds out hope that maybe in some cosmic way, Suzanne is paying off some debts. Diane asks him how he feels about it, has checked in on him every day, to see how he’s processing. “Conflicted. I mean… I just put her remains in a public garbage can, so… there’s that. But I also feel… sorry? I know what it’s like, to be so empty you don’t want to live anymore. I can’t help but feel pity for her somehow, even though I hate her.” 

“That’s ‘cause you’re a good kid, Patty. You’ve got a good heart. She doesn’t deserve it, but that’s what makes you better than her.” Pat gets choked up at that. It’s so strange being told he’s good for hating the woman who spent his whole life making him feel like he was rotten. “You gonna be okay, honey?” 

Pat swallows down the lump in his throat and coughs. “Yeah. I think so, yeah.” 

“I wish I was there with you, sugar. Maybe, I mean only if you want to, maybe when the money comes through, you can fly your Aunt Diane out? I’d love to see you again, see how handsome you got.” 

Pat chuckles. “Okay, yeah. I’d like that.” 

They talk a while longer until Diane has to go and Pat calls a car to take him back to the dorms. Panic creeps up his throat every once in awhile about throwing Suzanne away, but he takes a deep breath before it can strangle him and makes it settle back down. It’s done now, no changing it. He keeps telling himself something Diane had said to him before he’d left Maine, that regret was wasted effort. She was right. There is nowhere to go but onward, and the future now feels so much brighter. 

Before, any plans had always been shadowed by the possibility of Suzanne, and the last few months she had darkened even his brightest ambitions. His daydream apartment with Griffin didn’t comfort him nearly as much when there was the threat of Suzanne pounding at the door, or finally making it to graduation only to have her waving to him from the crowd. He never has to worry about that ever again. The shadows are gone. He is beginning to think that maybe Griffin is right; as fucked up and sideways, as permanent and twisted as it is, her death really is a boon of freedom. There is so much all of this has churned up, like clouds of silt off a riverbed, but that one truth shines through it all, invariable and definite. 

She can never hurt him ever again.


	15. Chapter 15

Pat is thankful to his past self that, weeks before Suzanne’s death, he had used the gift certificate from Griffin and booked a meditation session at the shrine in the hills. He needs it desperately now, or at least he hopes that’s what it is. He needs _something_. He has been restless and moody and tangled up in ways that the student therapists can’t help. At the very least, the idea of two hours of peace and quiet by himself sounds like bliss right now. 

It is easiest (and cheaper) to take a car to the airport and then catch the shuttle the shrine’s adjoining resort provides for guests. He is the only passenger on the drive and it is a nice precursor, silently watching LA fade into forest as they head northeast into the foothills. After about an hour, he is dropped off at the jasmine-heavy arbor leading to the meditation center, at the bottom of the hill from the resort up on the ridge, feeling a little apprehensive and out of place. This is definitely something marketed more for upper class people, but it is a morning in the middle of the week and the place seems deserted except for staff. 

When he steps into the lobby, the young woman at the desk smiles and calls him by name. It’s disarming and instantly relaxing, leaving him with no guess-work. They lead him through everything he needs right from the moment he arrives. He’s given a locker for his phone and shoes and a soft woven shawl, in case he gets too cold. The meditation caverns stay a constant cool temperature year round. There is a waiting room lobby with a fireplace and complimentary drinks and Pat pours himself some chamomile tea while he waits to be taken down into the caves. 

He wonders if the wait itself is part of the experience, because just as he is settling between feeling comfortable and getting impatient, a middle-aged black man wearing a long mala around his neck comes into the room, introduces himself as Maurice, and asks if Pat is ready. A small wave of nervousness hits him again, but Pat nods, following the guide through a door and down onto a stone landing leading into the caves. Part of the tunnels and chambers are natural, with other features carved out artificially. There are lights wired along the tunnel at just enough of an interval to see. He is led into and through a large natural chamber, then back into a narrow tunnel, which terminates in a small room carved from the stone, with a rug and large cushion on the floor, a padded stool, and a dozen burning candles. Pat hears the soft voices of what he thinks is a wind chime before realizing there is a small moat, of sorts, along the front wall, a trough of lazily flowing water that comes into the room through the wall and back out, and in it floats several brass bowls of varying sizes, chiming gently as they bump into each other and drift on. There are lights rigged at the bottom of the pool that shine up through the water, casting rippling shadows on the stone ceiling. 

Pat settles himself onto the cushion in the middle of the floor and Maurice sits on the padded stool facing him, reaching to light some incense and turn down the electric lights in the room, leaving only the pool and the candle flames. His voice is deep and a little raspy and the way he paces and shapes his words is soothing and sure. “Before we start, I want you to know that you’re completely safe here, and if anything does go wrong and you’d like to leave before I come back to lead you out, there’s a button right there,” he points to a faint red light next to the dark entryway where they had entered, “and someone will come immediately. Are you ready to begin?” 

Pat shifts a little and gets comfortable, nodding. It starts in a way he is used to; Maurice prompts him to close his eyes and relax into his breath, mentally scanning his body for tension and releasing it. “Any thoughts that come to your mind, acknowledge them and let them go. If you are confronted with fears or worries, return to your breath. Any distractions or distress, allow yourself this time to simply be and remind yourself that all you have to do in this moment is breathe.” 

Already, things float to the surface of his mind, vying for his attention, but Pat does his best to let them go, letting out a loud, long exhale. “Don’t focus so hard on your breath that it becomes your worry,” Maurice chides gently and Pat laughs softly at himself, realizing his brow is furrowed and his shoulders have started floating up to this ears. He takes some time to relax again and Maurice prompts him now and then until he’s sure Pat is ready to move on. 

“I’d like you to imagine a forest.” 

Maurice sets a scene that is loosely described so that the images appear naturally. Pat’s breath in is a soft breeze through conifer needles. A full moon paints a stand of trees blue and silver. “You walk slowly through the forest, you are safe here and know the path well. You climb a hill, and at the top, you see a tower.” Pat’s mind paints a picture of it for him and he doesn’t fuss over any of the details, letting whatever impressions arrive first dictate the tone as Maurice leads him on. 

At the bottom of the tower is a door, and as he steps through it, there are stone steps spiraling not up, but down. On the wall is a torch, and the light of its flame is deep red. Pat walks down the stairs, and as he descends, the next torch is orange, then yellow, then green. On and on, he follows the stairs twisting down through the tower, the torches changing to blue and violet. He is almost in darkness, leaving the violet torch behind, before a faint light shines onto the steps and grows brighter until he is on another landing, facing another door. There is blinding white light framing it from the other side, and he stands in front of the door for a moment, preparing himself to pass through it. When he does, stepping past the threshold, the bright light consumes him, swallows up everything around him, and then it fades into blackness, and he is drifting in a void. 

He has to return to his breath several times until he is not uncomfortable facing it. Even though he can still hear the chiming bowls and Maurice’s soft breath, even with the candlelight flickering behind his eyelids, something in his chest feels like he really is falling into a black abyss, and he breaths in and out, and finally begins to float. 

Maurice’s voice finds him, softly, quietly, describing images, and stars begin to appear in the void with each ring of the floating bowls, then a nebula above him, a galaxy below. The soft colors are comforting and the floating void has become a place of refuge. Pat thinks very loudly, _shit, these people know what they’re doing_ , smiling to himself, and then letting that thought, too, float away. He hears Maurice stand and leave the room, and Pat is left to bob silently through his own little cosmos, anchored by his breath. 

For a while, he is able to stay mindful and drift, worriless and calm in this imagined space, but thoughts begin to surface. At first they are innocuous and without consequence, flotsam of a busy conscience. Then he thinks about Griffin, and it is hard to let that thought go. It makes him happy, he’s already thinking into the future of telling Griffin about this, but reluctantly, he pushes it away. School comes up to the surface, what he is going to eat for lunch, all of it sinking back down again, and then, out of the darkness, to no surprise and with much dread, he thinks about Suzanne. 

He had known it was coming, but he hadn’t expected this: a memory of sitting on the couch cuddled up against her side, watching reruns of The Partridge Family while she sings to him. He’s maybe five years old. She hasn’t done much more than spank and yell yet and he thinks that’s what mommies do when their babies are bad and it’s fine. 

The peaceful drifting, floating sensation turns into a plummet and his eyes fly open. The room feels foreign and Pat looks around for a moment before he can get himself back together, slowing his breathing, watching the shadows from the pool dance on the ceiling while he cries, trying to buffer out the memories, recognizing them as they arrive but not letting them come to the forefront of his mind. The good ones, the innocent ones, almost hurt worse than the memories of the beatings. 

It takes some time, but he finally feels ready to go back into the floating space. When he closes his eyes, it’s hard to imagine it like he had before. He has to think of the tower first and wind back down the staircase, but he finds his way back, wading out into a twinkling, softly glowing supernova. The inconsequential thoughts resurface, and a few negative thoughts as well, the belittling inner voice he’s unfortunately so familiar with. He acknowledges each and they fade away. Some of them are very clear. The old man sitting in front of him on the bus out of Maine. Cecil purring away in his lap while he studied. Standing in line at the supermarket, Griffin’s warm hand resting at the small of his back. This one makes him sigh, he can almost feel it, but he lets it sink from the surface of his consciousness just like all the others. 

When Suzanne bubbles up again, he’s ready for it, and when she, too, fades away, something changes. It’s like he’s vibrating at the right frequency now, the floating feeling isn’t something he is drifting through, but part of him. It’s a bizarre sense of buoyancy, but he does not let it startle him, relaxing into it for as long as he can. 

When Maurice reenters the room--quiet, bare footfalls and the rustle of clothing as he takes a seat again on the padded stool--Pat feels like he has been adrift for ages. Maurice’s voice is very, very soft, giving him plenty of time to get a last good look at this peaceful inner starscape before a door floats towards him out of the void, a bright white shining light around its edges. He steps through it and the white light envelopes everything, then fades away, and he is back in the tower with its colored torches, climbing slowly back up until he is walking out into the forest. When he opens his eyes, the realness of the room around him is grounding, and he feels much more collected than he had when he first arrived. 

Maurice patiently waits for him to stand and stretch a little before leading him back out of the cave, Pat asking to please take a moment to look around the large natural chamber, resting his hand on the stone briefly before they exit the caves and are back in the cozy waiting room. Maurice shakes his hand and points him in the direction of the lockers, wishing him a good rest of his day, and Pat thanks him awkwardly, his brain not feeling up to speed for daylight and normal human conversations just yet. He gets his things and puts his shoes back on, leaving the borrowed shawl hanging on a coat rack in the locker room, and heads out into the warm sun, sitting on a wooden bench under a eucalyptus tree while he waits for the shuttle back to the airport. 

Sitting in the sun helps him come back to reality a bit, and he turns his phone back on to pass the time. There’s an email alert from fic-archive.org and he can’t think of a better way to spend the drive than reading something of Griffin’s. He pulls up the new story and downloads a PDF of it, checking his social media and making some quick notes about the meditation to revisit later before the shuttle stops and picks him up. There are two older women riding back with him, but they talk amongst themselves and he is left to read. 

It is all one finished story, but much longer than Pat is used to. Griffin had finished the carnival story a while ago and there had been a lull in updates for the last month or so. This must have been what he was working on. It’s original characters, with a strange, corny trope Pat has seen mentioned in the summary of other fics, one that Griffin even admits in the opening comments that he personally sort of hates, but that he could not get the idea to leave him alone. 

It’s set in a universe that is indistinguishable from their own save for the quirk of every person having a birthmark that matches that of their soulmate. Pat thinks it _is_ pretty corny, but like always, he enjoys the way Griffin handles it. The main character’s own birthmark had been blotted out by a burn scar after a dumb teenaged bonfire night gone wrong, and when he meets the young man who has its match, all he can do is beg that he trust him. He has no photographic proof that their birthmarks are identical, but he remembers his mark in perfect detail, and knows for certain he’s found his soulmate, but all his partner can do is take his word for it. 

Pat is surprised that the characters’ relationship has many mirrors to his and Griffin’s, some dates or conversations lifted note for note, including the first time they had slept together, and the first time Griffin had told him he loved him. It makes him feel vulnerable, but he knows that only the two of them can pin these moments as ones they’ve shared, but it’s so… strange, and intimate, to be reading a deeply emotional perspective of their relationship from Griffin’s point of view. It takes the whole shuttle ride and most of the drive back to his dorm from the airport to finish all of it, and he’s glad it ends happily. He’d gotten too attached to the relationship he couldn’t help but feel was a stand-in for his own, and there were plenty of rough patches and doubt throughout that could have ended them. In a universe where one could know for absolute certain they had found the person they were meant to be with, all this pair could do was trust. 

When Pat gets back to the dorm, he pulls up his laptop and leaves a like and a comment. 

**AndromedaCalamity commented:** This is really different from your usual stuff, but I like it a lot. There’s still your usual tone and style, and I’m glad it had a happy ending. I was worried for a while! You said yourself it’s kind of a cliche, but do you believe in soulmates? 

He hopes that’s not too sneaky, covertly asking his own boyfriend how he feels about star-crossed lovers meant to be. He goes back and rereads a few scenes and then refreshes the page, scrolling down to find Griffin has already responded. 

**StellarVoyage replied:** Thanks! I thought about giving this a sad end, maybe that’s more realistic, but by the time I got there, I just couldn’t. I’ve spent the last nine months away from the person I love, and it’s hard not to wonder about things like if it’s meant to be, if it will work out. I don’t know if I believe in soulmates. I don’t think I do. The romantic sap in me likes the idea of it a lot, but when you break it down, it’s sort of cheap, isn’t it? If someone is meant for you, made for you, especially in this kind of context where--in most cases--you can know for absolute certain, what motivates you to try? Relationships are hard, they take work, and the work makes them stronger. Loving somebody isn’t just something you feel, it’s something you do, and it’s choosing to believe you’ve got it right and you’re with the person that’s best for you. You can’t know, so you just have to trust your instincts, and not let yourself doubt, and when things get hard, you work hard to fix them. I don’t think any of that would really exist in this fictional place where it’s determined for you, that’s what makes their relationship so different, and so hard, but what they have is just how love works in our reality. I don’t know how to prove or even know for sure that I love my boyfriend, but it’s just something I know, for me, is true, and I trust it, and I don’t have to think he’s my soulmate or made for me to choose to be with him, and maybe even spend my whole life with him. I think that’s more meaningful than having him assigned to me by some cosmic matchmaker, y’know? Thanks, as always, for reading. :) 

Pat feels exposed. Does Griffin know? Maybe not. Somehow this feels at once like something directed at him and something he isn’t quite meant to see. He’s glad, though, that he’s seen it. Griffin is his first love and a big part of that for Pat is wondering if this is how it’s supposed to feel, if he’s doing it right, if Griffin feels the same way about him or if the way Griffin feels is some kind of different love, or if in general, love feels differently to each person. It took Pat a long time to finally tell Griffin how he felt, because he had to be sure, and even when he got there, he wasn’t really certain. Love isn’t something you’re supposed to grasp, it’s almost all faith. 

Pat reads over the comment again, chewing his lip, then pulls up the archive’s home page on his phone and takes a screenshot, texting it to Griffin. 

_Please don’t be mad._

Griffin is very confused by the text at first, caught off guard. He looks at the screenshot and the familiar icon at the top, the account logged in and greeted, _Hello, **AndromedaCalamity**_. He has no idea how to feel about it at first, almost panicking, going through a few different comment sections on earlier stories and rereading his exchanges with whom he now suddenly knows is Pat. Pat texts him again after about fifteen minutes with no reply. 

_Are you angry? :/_

Griffin sighs. **not angry, no**

_I feel like I deceived you, and I know I promised not to talk about your writing. I didn’t mean to be sneaky, but that last comment made me realize what I was doing was at least partially dishonest. I’m sorry._

**it’s ok. caught me off guard, though**

_Yeah, I bet… I’m sorry again. But Griffin? I would choose you every time._

Griffin feels a sudden wedge of emotion lodge in his throat and he’s not sure why it gets to him so much. Maybe because he had been taken unawares, and feels vulnerable. The story had definitely been a way to work through some of the doubts he isn’t proud of that he’s had about their relationship, and it had also been a way to work out some of his feelings about Pat that he usually can’t quite get right in their love letters, the things that feel so raw they’re too shy to be said directly. There are bits of the story he is outright _ashamed_ of, that Pat’s depression is _hard_ to deal with, and scary, and it makes him feel weary to imagine always having to break down walls to get in and love him. Griffin knows his own anxiety must be a similar hazard, but those were still things he didn’t ever want Pat to know, never wanted him to feel like a burden, because he isn’t. It can be difficult, but it’s a weight Griffin carries voluntarily, and gladly, because it comes with so much else. He hadn’t wanted Pat to read some of these things, hadn’t even considered that Pat would get an account to access the member-locked works, but it’s out now, Pat knows, he’s read all of it, and ultimately, Griffin is glad. 

He reads over the most recent exchange in the comments again, and then Pat’s texts, and the wedge in his throat dissolves. 

**I’d choose you, too, Patrick. I choose you every day.**


	16. Chapter 16

It doesn’t happen all at once, but over the next several weeks, Pat’s head clears and he begins to come out of the sullen darkness that has been weighing him down since returning to LA. The troughs are still deep when his mood slips, but they are becoming shorter and further apart. As traumatic as it had played out, being able to move on from Suzanne helps tremendously. 

It becomes easier, still, as he and Griffin start talking seriously about apartments, making budgets and sending each other links to listings, planning what pieces of furniture they may need to buy, what part of the city they might like best. Having practical things to do and look forward to occupies his mind so that the melancholy doesn’t have a chance to, and thinking about an apartment together and having Griffin here with him, spending all their spare time together like they used to, it makes it difficult to sulk for too long. 

As his mood improves, other things come back, as well. After a long absence, the weekend before Griffin’s birthday Pat’s libido returns with a vengeance, and he can’t help but drag it out and tease Griffin in the process. 

He starts innocuous, sending good morning snaps that are a little wider angle than usual, casually showing his morning wood tenting out the front of his boxers if anyone were looking, and he knows Griffin always looks. Next are bathroom photos in the steamy mirror after he gets out of the shower, playing them off like it isn’t sexual, with cutesy bubble stickers and a caption of _clean_ right above his dick. He keeps it up, putting on clothes he knows Griffin likes him in and sending a shot of the outfit, skinny black jeans with the knees ripped, dirty white Chucks, a loose grey and gold flannel with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, open over a tank top that’s cut low, showing a lot of collarbone and pale shoulders. He knows he’s getting somewhere when Griffin sends back a photo of himself in the bedroom full length mirror, underwear pulled down just under his ass. 

**I was getting dressed too when I realized my butt looks great**

Pat bites his lip, realizing he’s teasing himself in this, too, because holy hell does he love Griffin’s ass. And hips and thighs… just the whole back end is fantastic, really. He sends back his bitten lip. 

_Love that big bodacious booty._

Pat wonders if he’s going to regret this before heading out to grab some late breakfast, then on to a half-shift at the bookstore. Thankfully Griffin has a couple classes on Friday, unlike Pat, and they go quiet for a while, Pat managing to avoid awkward boners through his slow afternoon. Once he’s back at the the dorm, though, with Prajit back at his parents’ for the weekend, Pat’s mind immediately returns to sex, and doesn’t seem like it is going to be distracted. Pat has jerked off a handful of times since getting back to LA, mostly as maintenance, essentially, but he hasn’t pleasured himself--taken his time, teased, really enjoyed it--and now seems like a perfect opportunity. 

He doesn’t dive right in. He strips down to the tank top and his underwear and goes through Griffin’s fic-archive.org account, finding his favorite sex scenes and reading over all the juicy bits while flicking through the password-protected folder on his phone of nudes from Griffin, a few photos and video files there of the two of them having sex. He watches a video clip he’d filmed of Griffin sucking him off and he’s so hard the image itself makes him moan, but he still hasn’t touched. He’s going to make this last, and he’s determined to drag Griffin into it, too. 

Pushing the waistband of his boxers down over his sharp hipbones, he takes a picture of his hardon resting against his stomach and texts it to Griffin, reading through more smut while he waits for a reply. When it finally comes ( **babe, you’re making my mouth water** ), he smiles to himself and makes Griffin wait while he finally starts touching his body, fingertips tracing over his hip and down between his thighs. 

When several minutes pass by without another text, Griffin isn’t sure if this is going anywhere. He’s been reluctant to initiate anything sexua with all the shit with Pat’s mom going on, but when he finally gets a snap, he knows it’s game on, and he’s been aching to play. The short video is Pat laid back in bed, just his face, from the shoulders up, his glasses off and hair mussed, eyes closed as he pants and mewls. The sound of him has Griffin’s skin rippling into gooseflesh and he’s genuinely salivating. The caption at the bottom asks 

**Do you wanna see what’s making me moan?**

Griffin officially abandons the assignment he had been working for journalism--it is about sex in the digital age, so this counts as research, anyway, right?--and closes the document, sending back his most lecherous face, lit by the laptop’s screen. 

_yes please_

He leans back in his desk chair and waits for the response, which comes quickly, Griffin nearly doing the same when he opens the video to watch Pat’s long, slim fingers slowly working himself open, pushing deep inside. Griffin gulps loudly and undoes his jeans one handed, replaying the video and rubbing at his dick as it throbs into hardness. Pat sends him a blank snap with simply **Get on Skype.** and then a one second photo of a dildo on the bed. Griffin bites the tip of his tongue and squeezes the base of his cock, quickly opening Skype on his laptop and answering the call from Pat that comes immediately after he is logged in. 

He can’t help the grin that tugs at his mouth to see Pat, leaned over in front of his laptop with chin in hand, his bare ass up in the air. “Hey, you. To what do I owe this rare horny Patrick?” It’s teasing, but this semester has seen their sex life dwindle to nothing. He understands, of course, but they’ve done little more than sext here and there and a few times, Pat has watched while Griffin masturbates or fucks himself with a toy, but it hasn’t been the fun weekend cam sex like last semester and Griffin is starved for this. 

Pat shrugs and licks his lips very deliberately. “Better brain chemicals, I guess. I thought I’d take advantage of it and give you a little show as an early birthday present.” He sucks two fingers into his mouth and his eyes flutter shut as his tongue lolls out around them, wet and shiny. Griffin squeezes his dick again and whimpers. Pat smiles to himself, always feeling smug for getting such reactions out of Griffin. “I’ve been teasing myself all day.” 

Griffin laughs, shifting his chair back a little so Pat can see him loosely stroking his cock. “Yeah, you’ve been teasing me, too.” 

Pat grins around the fingers that are back in his mouth, tracing along his teeth. “You liked it.” 

Griffin laughs again, lifting his shirt up over his belly and rubbing at it with his free hand. “Yeah, I did.” 

Pat’s other hand goes back behind him and he angles his hips back for easier access. “You’re gonna like this, too.” He starts to finger himself again, eyes dropping shut as he pants and whimpers, playing with his tongue and teeth, pulling at his bottom lip and letting himself even drool a little, all for show for Griffin, and it hits its mark, hard. Griffin has to stop touching himself, rubbing his chest and belly instead, getting very close to the edge quickly and having to back off. Pat doesn’t seem in much better shape, his head dropping after a few minutes, whining as he stretches himself. It feels so good, he almost prefers fingering himself to jerking off, and Griffin can’t get enough of watching him, muttering little encouragements. 

Pat finally has to stop before he can’t control himself anymore, sitting up and resting back on his heels, knees spread wide. The hand from his mouth trails down his long, slender neck and over his pale chest, his dark hair falling into his face. His fingers dig into his skin as he slowly moves his hand further down his body, over his flat stomach to the top of his sparse happy trail and he can swear he feels Griffin’s eyes raking after it, watching him with rapt attention. He chews his lip and stops just before he reaches his cock, hard and throbbing and aching for attention, but he can wait. The whine from Griffin is enough to keep him pacing himself, smirking at him on the screen as he reaches for the dildo and pours a drizzle of lube over it, starting to stroke it, really hamming it up. 

Griffin bucks up into empty air, flushed and squirming. He can taste the ghost of Pat’s cock in his mouth just seeing it, wishing it was down his throat or pressed against his hip while he sucked at Pat’s tongue. It’s one of the things he misses most, at least sexually, is how Pat tastes. He’s sampled every inch and it’s all delicious and his mouth is watering at the memory of it, letting himself jerk off again in time to Pat stroking the toy, moaning when he starts stroking the toy and himself together, the same way he does when it’s Griffin’s dick pressed against him. In fact, the toy is a close match to Griffin in size, Pat had made sure of that, especially for what comes next. 

Rising up on his knees, Pat moves the dildo to rest standing straight up under him, steadying it at the base and carefully lowering himself down, adjusting a little to make sure it’s at a good angle, and then begins to sink down over it. He mewls loudly, having to work the head in, but once it’s in, he slides down over the rest with ease, letting out a sigh as a ripple of pleasure shudders up through his body. He hasn’t had any penetration in months and he sits for a while, rubbing up and down his thighs, just feeling the way it fills him up, his hips twitching minutely. 

Griffin is nearly drawing blood on his lip, squeezing the base of his dick in a vice grip, so ready to lose it but holding back by the skin of his teeth. “Does it feel good, baby?” 

Pat lets out a breathy laugh, tossing his hair back out of his face and nodding. “Wish it was you.” Holding down the toy, he starts to ride it slowly, moaning softly and stroking himself, watching Griffin try to hold back, pleased with himself to have him so worked up. He feels a little bad it’s due in part to his practically nonexistent sex drive over the last few months, but that can’t be helped, and he hopes this is making it up to him a little. 

He starts to ride the toy harder, faster, working up a sweat and turning red in the face, the flush working its way down onto his chest. He’s so hard it almost hurts, but he doesn’t chase after orgasm, relishing in the penetration and intense sensation and watching Griffin struggle not to come apart. When he’s whining and tossing his head back, tugging at his balls and telling Pat he can’t last much longer, Pat leans down to put his face in frame, catching his breath. “Wait, baby. Just come down a little. Wait just a little longer, I promise it’ll be worth it.” 

Griffin almost looks close to tears, but he listens, pulling himself back together and sucking at his fingers to soothe and ground himself. Pat tells him he’s a good boy and shifts carefully off the toy, getting close up to the camera and opening his mouth for Griffin, tongue out and lips swollen and red. When he’s sure Griffin has reigned himself in, Pat shifts and lays on his back with his ass towards the laptop, spreading his legs and jerking off slow, twisting his lubed hand around the head and bucking his hips up into his fist. The toy comes back into frame and he slips it into himself, working it slowly and writhing against the bed until he can’t stand it anymore, fucking himself roughly with it, fast and deep. His free hand grips his thigh to bruising to keep from jerking off, trying to keep some semblance of control. 

Griffin is panting, knowing this is the home stretch, fucking his own fist and remembering a little too well how tight and searing-hot it is inside Pat, wishing he was between those thighs with his face buried in the long, pale throat and not just watching from afar, but this will have to do for now. They don’t want to settle for pretend much longer. 

Pat angles the dildo up and his toes curl, back bowing. His dick is leaking precum that drips down to his hole and Griffin is barely holding on as he watches it, sighing out in thanks for Pat’s mercy when he hears him whimper, “baby, I’m close… baby, cum with me” and his pace is faltering. Griffin spits on his dick and fists it in rhythm with the toy fucking Pat, gripping the arm of his office chair as he works towards his peak, watching Pat’s ass tense and clench, his balls drawing up and his cock twitching, and they’re both moaning loudly as the end comes, Pat’s nails clawing into his thigh as he buries the toy in himself and grinds his hips, riding out the climax, only reaching to stroke his cock towards the end of it, milking himself dry. 

When it’s over, both of them rest limply as they are for several minutes, panting and sweating and sated. Pat finally reaches to slip the dildo out and tosses it in a plastic shopping bag to wash later, sitting up carefully with a dumb, blissed-out smile on his face. He rubs a hand through the cum on his chest and watches Griffin do the same to the mess across his round tummy. Griffin looks absolutely wrecked and Pat can’t help but mentally congratulate himself. “Good birthday present?” 

Griffin chuckles weakly, smiling, bringing his cum covered fingers up to his mouth, sucking them clean. “Yeah, babe. Very good present.” 

They clean up a little and Pat pulls on a pair of boxers, moving the laptop to his nightstand and laying down in bed, Griffin moving to his own bed, arranging himself similarly. They are quiet for a while, just looking at each other, as if they are in bed together, staring into each other’s eyes, and Griffin lets out a frustrated sigh. 

“This is the part that fucking sucks.” He rolls and looks up at the ceiling, tossing his arm out to the side. “I can get over jerking off and just pretending you’re here, but it’s after… I feel so much lonelier right now.” 

Pat frowns and tucks his little stuffed fox’s head under his chin. “I know… if I try really hard, it feels like you’re actually here for a few seconds, but I mean… literally more than anything else in the world, I just want to lay next to you right now and hold you.” 

Griffin lets out another frustrated sound. “I’d cut off my leg for that! I want to feel you next to me so bad.” He finally rolls back and looks at Pat on the screen, sighing. “I guess this is kind of close…” 

Pat smiles a little sadly and after a moment, makes a suggestion to help them feel a little closer. He’s a little shy about it, but Griffin is game, and Pat has them both close their eyes while he talks Griffin through the tower meditation he’d learned at the shrine. He’s used it several times since and the more he uses it, the easier it becomes to clear his mind and find the calm place floating through his inner cosmic tranquility. He guides Griffin down and imagines it along with him, leading Griffin into the floating nebula. Griffin mumbles softly that this is nice, hugging the pillow with Pat’s t-shirt over it, listening to Pat’s deep voice and soft, metered breathing. 

“I’m here with you. Do you feel me?” Pat imagines Griffin in the space with him, reaching out to take his hand, not focusing too hard on it. 

Griffin sounds almost sad when he replies, “Yeah… yeah, I feel you.” 

They keep their eyes closed and stay in the imagined starscape together, talking in hushed voices. Griffin comes out of it after a while when he starts to fall asleep and twitches back awake, grumbling quietly and rubbing his eyes. Pat opens his eyes and shifts up on his elbow. “Hey, go to sleep. It’s late for you, isn’t it?” 

Griffin lets out a bratty whine and stretches. “Yeah, but I wanna go ahead and finish this assignment. Then I’ll sleep.” 

“Promise?” 

Griffin chuckles, rolling back to look at Pat. “Yeah, I promise. Are you gonna sleep or stay up a while longer?” 

Pat shrugs, thinking about it. He’s relaxed, but not particularly tired. “I might read for a while, but I probably won’t stay up late.” 

Griffin sits up and pulls the laptop across his thighs, adjusting the screen to point the camera towards his face. “Mmkay, well… dream of me?” 

Pat huffs out a small laugh, smiling. “Will do. Love you, buddy.” 

Griffin flashes him a tired smile. “Love you, too, babe.” They end the call and Pat gets up to wash the toy and take a quick shower, getting back in bed with a book, but he can’t focus for long, drifting back to thinking about Griffin. He gives up and puts the book away and turns off his lamp, leaving the flameless candle flickering as he curls up under the blanket. 

His mind easily goes back to its imagined safe place, and he can still feel the afterimage of Griffin there, the memories of him and the longing for him shaping into a psychic poppet to comfort Pat in the absence of the genuine article. It won’t be much longer until he has the real thing. Much sooner than it seems, they’ll be together again, and Pat doesn’t think he’ll ever let Griffin out of his sight again after this. He guesses they’ll probably just have to spend the rest of their lives together, and the quiet joy of that thought gently sings him to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

Getting done with exams feels like letting go of a lead weight for both of them. As soon as the semester is over, the move and getting to see each other again becomes very real, having felt for so long like a fantasy, and Griffin and Pat both kick into high gear, apartment hunting and getting finances in order to apply for renting some prospective properties. Pat has until the end of May to move out of the dorms, though just in case anything winds up taking longer than planned, Prajit’s parents graciously offer him their spare room if he needs it. Griffin starts to pack his things, Cody having taken over the lease two months prior, and despite it being stressful and a lot of work, especially being the one half a continent away from the final destination, being able to finally do real work towards getting to Pat is enormously exciting. 

They had opened a joint account together while Pat was in Austin over the winter break and while it hadn’t felt like they were putting away much each check, but it has accumulated to quite a nice little safety net. Both of them had worried and worried about how all of this would actually work out, but now that the time has arrived, it feels to flow naturally. Pat can’t believe how much they’d managed to save, especially after Griffin’s family had pooled together to give him a sizable amount of money for both his birthday and graduation. He had explicitly requested no gifts, only funds to help him get out to California, and he and Pat to get on their feet in a new place together. Aunt Diane had also sent Pat a check to help, promising to accept reimbursement when his inheritance money finally came through after Pat almost refused to accept. He knows she and her husband don’t make a lot of money, but she assures him they can spare it and that she wants to help. 

After some back and forth and calling around to a few different places, there is one building in particular that Griffin and Pat both gravitate towards. It’s on the high end of their budget, but still within it, and all the photos online make it seem perfect for them. Pat schedules a viewing with the landlord and Griffin takes a long lunch break to sit in on video chat as Pat’s shown the apartment, walking through with his rear camera streaming to Griffin. Even on a phone screen over a dodgy connection, Griffin feels like the space resonates with him, and he can hear in Pat’s voice that he’s already enamored with it. 

It’s a fourth floor apartment on the backside of a predominantly Chinese neighborhood, in a building from the late 1920s, converted into apartments in the early nineties and then renovated in 2008. Walking into the apartment, there are two walls of windows around the compact but open-plan living area, with a galley kitchen to the right, and a dining area behind the kitchen’s wall that Pat suggests they can use as an office. There are two doors on either side of the long wall separating the living area from the rest of the apartment, one leading into the bathroom, with another door directly opposite it leading into the bedroom, the other door leading through a small hallway with the stacked washer and dryer and water heater along with some storage shelves behind a folding track door, with another entrance to the bedroom straight through. The bedroom itself is quite spacious, all things considered, with a walk-in closet cutting into what is an otherwise open space, and a wall of large windows. The whole place has dark wood floors and high ceilings, with crown molding at the top indicative more of the building’s original era. It isn’t a lot of space, but it’s enough, and it has a certain charm and character to it. 

The landlord--a middle-aged Korean woman, Miss Yi, who looks like she just walked out of a sleek nineties pantsuit ad--asks if they have any other questions about the apartment, and Pat asks her to wait just a moment, going into the bedroom and speak to Griffin with a little privacy. 

“What do you think?” Pat is so transparent, Griffin can tell he is both trying not to show his own opinions of the place and also that he is already sold on it. 

“I think from everything else in our price range we’ve looked at, this is pretty perfect.” 

Pat makes an excited noise and tries to keep himself together. “So should I… Should we take it?” 

Griffin hasn’t seen Pat this happy in so long, he hopes it isn’t affecting his judgment. It is a nice place, though, and somewhere they can afford. “Yeah, why not?” 

Pat smiles and it hits Griffin right in the chest. He’s missed that smile so much, the big genuine one that crinkle the bridge of his nose. “Okay! I’ll call you back in just a little bit!” They hang up and Griffin texts Pat to call the phone at the store, heading back to work. Pat steps back into the living room where the landlord is waiting impatiently and not trying very hard to pretend she’s interested in much more than gaining a tenant, asking him if he’s made a decision. Pat is bouncing gently on his toes, trying to contain himself. “We’ll take it!” 

There’s paperwork to fill out, Griffin has to use the work fax to sign a few things to get himself on the lease, as well, but when Pat returns from the bank with the first and last month’s rent and a security deposit in cash, Miss Yi hands him over a set of keys, and the apartment is theirs. All at once, a rush of emotions and memories hits Pat, and he’s able to hold it in until he gets upstairs to the apartment, sitting in the middle of the empty floor and crying a river of happy tears. 

A year ago, he’d been afraid they wouldn’t make it this far, that a year apart would weaken them and it would be too hard to maintain their relationship, but here on the other side of it, they still have each other, maybe even closer and stronger than they’d started, in a new place, starting a new phase together. It is so overwhelming, and so hard to believe he could be so blessed. He calls Griffin to confirm that it’s all finalized and Griffin has to contain himself, whispering excitedly into the work phone by the register that he loves Pat so much and he can’t wait to see him very soon. 

With school out of the way for now, Pat digs in immediately on cleaning the apartment. He scrubs every inch, dusts and wipes down counters and window sills and blinds. There had been an older couple living in the apartment for nearly ten years before them, and there are spots on the walls where pictures had hung, and a little dirty stain by the bedroom door where a small dog had liked to lay. He consults with Griffin on paint colors and buys a creme for the kitchen, both windowed walls in the living area, the bathroom, and trim, and a light, neutral grey for the bedroom, hallway, and the long, main wall in the living area that matches the faux granite counters in the kitchen and bathroom. 

After he’s painted the whole space, they decide to add a dark plum accent wall to the bedroom, and Pat buys matching towels and rugs for the bathroom. He gets internet hooked up in the new place and Prajit helps him move what little he has from the dorm, and it takes him about a week of really busting ass, but it’s therapeutic and rewarding to have it start to feel like his own space already, already looking so much brighter and homey even with his sparse belongings. Now all it needs is Griffin. 

Justin and Clint had driven down to Austin for Griffin’s graduation and helped him pack some, wishing him well. It’s bittersweet, not knowing when he’ll have the funds or time to see his family again, but he’s comforted by how genuinely happy they are for him, and confident that he’ll thrive. He hasn’t had much luck job hunting from afar yet, but there’s always retail until something better comes along. They’ll make it work, just like they always have. 

Once they’ve secured the apartment, Griffin arranges to have his furniture and things taken by a moving company while he and Cecil take his car, and they will arrive a few days before he and Pat’s second anniversary. He isn’t proud of it, but he finds himself getting very nervous as the day approaches, worries and worst-case scenarios popping into his head, but every time he starts to panic, Pat sends him a text or a photo of the space they’re going to share, and the worry dies and disappears. He has to trust it will all work out. He’s never been given any reason not to. 

The night before Griffin leaves Austin, he and Pat watch a movie together and Skype after, Pat sitting on an air mattress in the bedroom with the dark plum wall behind him. Griffin’s room is all in boxes and he can’t believe that in mere days, everything will be in their new home. He’s tried to explain it to Cecil a few times, but he’s pretty sure the cat doesn’t get it. He has a few kitty sedatives for the drive, just in case, though Cecil is usually good about sleeping in his carrier and not causing a fuss. 

Pat is bubbling over with facts about the area and all the neat shops and restaurants he’s found near them. He met their neighbors a few days ago and he’s already made friends with both of them, telling Griffin about them. “They kind of feel like the lesbian version of us. They’re about our age, and sort of nerdy? They’ve been together about three years, Simone writes for a local magazine and Ashley bartends at this place that does movies and game nights. They got me drunk last night and we played Mario Kart. I was very, very bad. They’re a lot of fun, I think you’ll like them, and it’s nice having people our age, and queer, right next door. I was a little nervous we’d wind up with shit neighbors.” 

Griffin snickers. Their downstairs neighbor at the Austin apartment was a senile old bat that always called them “the funny boys upstairs” and complained constantly about anything they did. It will be nice not having to worry about that sort of bullshit, and have some people their own age with similar interests to hang out with and help them acclimate to the city. Left to himself, Pat isn’t the best at socializing and still only knows the parts of Los Angeles he frequents, not having done much exploring. Griffin’s the adventurer, and Pat’s sure it will be more fun with him, anyway. 

Griffin soaks up how much happier and more relaxed Pat seems now compared to just a month prior. He knows it won't last forever, and he’s accepted that, but it eases his mind for Pat to finally have a break and be feeling more like himself. Griffin knows he’s a goofy, opinionated, sharp-witted smartass, but all of that has hidden behind the shy, gloomy, fatalistic side of himself, the things that can be charming and soft and make Griffin so protective of him, but turn to poison when depression takes over. When Pat had hit a really awful low point early into their relationship and admitted to Griffin that he was having suicidal thoughts, Griffin had never quite let go of that fear. It breaks his heart to know Pat can hurt that deeply, and he hasn’t really stopped being afraid that Pat might be hiding his pain, that he might lose him without ever knowing what’s really going on. He’d woken up in cold sweats, sick to his stomach for months, constantly worried that if Suzanne didn’t get to Pat, that his own psyche would. Seeing him smile and joke around and act so much more open and energetic means the world to Griffin now. 

“So what are you gonna do when you finally see me?” Pat asks, tilting his head and resting his cheek on his fist. 

Griffin chuckles softly. “Definitely gonna kiss you for a whole day. Twenty-four-hour smooch-a-thon for sure. And smell you a lot. Haven’t had those good-good boyfriend smells in a long time. I might become permanently attached to you, like physically just molded onto you. Fair warning.” 

Pat laughs and it pours through Griffin like rain. “I’m okay with that, I’d be disappointed if I didn’t get a bucket o’ kisses, at the very least.” 

“Oh babe… you’re in for a metric ton of ‘em. Probably other stuff, too, like, not to be gross, but let’s be real, I wanna jump your bones extra bad.” 

“You better! You know, and I’m not kidding, this is an actual thought I had the other day… I don’t suck your dick enough. Or didn’t, when I actually had access to your dick. I’m gonna rectify that.” Pat announces it rather matter-of-factly, tapping a finger against his chin like he’s thinking. 

Griffin blushes and lets out a loud laugh. “I mean, I had no complaints, but I’m not gonna say no.” 

They both laugh and joke, teasing about how much missed opportunities for affection they’re going to make up for, until Griffin checks the time and begrudgingly announces he needs to get some rest. “I don’t think it will actually take long to load the truck. Now that everything’s in boxes, it’s weird how little stuff there really is… so they’re gonna be here around seven. Honestly, if I didn’t have Cecil, I would probably just pull one long haul like we did when you moved, but I don’t think he’d like us very much if I tried that, so, we’ll stop for the night, I’m gonna try to get at least two-thirds of the way through, and we’ll head out early the next day and then…” 

Pat sighs softly. “And then you’re here.” 

“Yeah… I’ll be there.” Is it even real? Are they so close to finally hitting play again? It’s felt like they’ve been keeping the thing between them up in the air for almost a year, and finally it’s coming down to rest. 

Pat wipes at a single tear that has escaped, laughing softly to himself for always being so emotional. “I love you so much. I can’t wait to see you, please drive safe and stuff, okay?” 

Griffin wants to reach through the screen and kiss him, reassuring himself he’ll get to do so soon enough. “I will, I promise. I’ve got precious cargo with me!” He reaches to gently pat Cecil, who is sleeping beside him on the bed. “I love you, too, bud. I’ll see you--holy shit, I can’t believe I get to say this--I’ll see you Wednesday.” 

Pat closes his laptop and falls back onto the air mattress with a plastic groan, sighing wistfully. He closes his eyes and for the thousandth time over the last couple of weeks, he imagines their bed in this room, and Griffin getting dressed for work. He imagines the smell of Griffin’s famous biscuits in the oven, and Carly Rae playing just loud enough that Griffin thinks Pat can’t hear him singing along. He thinks of them on the couch watching movies, or playing video games together, or curled up under the covers, a tangle of arms and legs, or waking up in the middle of the night to the comforting weight and warmth of Griffin sleeping next to him. 

And somewhere in all of the memories from living together before, relocated into this new space, he feels so much potential for making new memories, finding new comforting quirks about sharing his life with Griffin, wondering what they’ll be but being so grateful that he’ll soon have plenty of time to wait and find out. It’s felt like so very long without each other, and now, finally, they will have one another again, very, very soon.


	18. Chapter 18

Two days on the road with no company but the radio and a sleeping cat should have made Griffin dead tired and ready to sleep for a week, but as he drives through Los Angeles, following the GPS to their new address, he’s never felt so alert and awake. The gallon or so of coffee he’s consumed over the past 48 hours notwithstanding, all he has been able to think about for the last several hundred miles is that he is about to see Pat again, and he’s nearly bursting for that moment to finally happen. As he takes the last turn onto what is now their street, he feels like he’s going to fly apart, pulling into a parking space beside the building and texting Pat: 

_I’M HERE!!!_

He turns the car off and steps out, going around to get Cecil out of the backseat, but he stops when he hears feet pounding down the stairwell, looking up to see a blur of Pat in the window, racing down all four flights and slamming into the crash bar on the exit door, barrelling across the wide sidewalk in two long-legged strides. He collides hard with Griffin, arms seizing onto each other desperately, not even getting out a hello before they are already locked in a much-awaited kiss. 

Griffin stretches up onto his toes, looping his arms around Pat’s neck a little more and parting his lips under Pat’s soft mouth, Pat’s arms around his waist pulling tighter, fitting them flush against one another, and Griffin feels as if he is full of helium, weightless and heady. It is without a doubt the best kiss he has ever had in his entire life, and when he finally sinks back onto his heels and pulls away to look up at Pat, the pounding heart and fluttery jitters are gone, and he knows he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be, a sure feeling settling his empty stomach and filling it with warm tingles. He’s unable to take his eyes off Pat’s face, both of them standing in the middle of the sidewalk holding onto each other and staring with big, cheesy grins on their faces. 

The last time Pat had seen him, Griffin had let his hair get shaggy, but it’s short now, and he has new thick-rimmed glasses that suit the shape of his face quite well. They’ve seen each other almost every day in SnapChat conversations or video chats, but the real thing is _real_. A digital connection didn’t have pores and smells and the sheen of sweat or the little patch of longer stubble from missing a spot while shaving. Even the few blemishes are good and perfect, Pat is ecstatic over Griffin’s coffee breath, because they’re all things they only get to experience because they are _here_ and _together_. 

Pat feels almost like he’s going over a checklist of all his favorite things. The downturned tip of Griffin’s nose, check. How round his cheeks get when he smiles, check, and the best smile he’s ever seen, check. Dark blue eyes that are absurdly comforting and kind, check. They are both lost basking in each other, not saying anything and yet communicating months of longing, until Cecil makes his needs known, meowing loudly from the backseat, rattling the door of his carrier with his little paws. 

The spell breaks and both of them laugh, pulling apart but staying very close to each other as Griffin opens the back door and pulls Cecil out, Pat leaning down to stick a finger through the door. “Hi, buddy! I missed you a bunch!” Cecil meows loudly again and Pat takes the carrier from Griffin, leading him into the building and to the elevator, pointing out the mail room and Miss Yi’s office. “I really hope you like it here, I’ve been so excited for you to finally see it.” 

Griffin steps into the elevator with Pat, resting a hand on Pat’s hip. “Babe, I’m happy being wherever you are.” 

Pat rolls his eyes and blushes. “Yeah, but I want you to like this place as much as I do. I feel really good about it.” 

They get out on the fourth floor and head to apartment B. Pat unlocks the door and leads Griffin inside, biting his tongue and watching Griffin closely for a reaction. It’s empty, Pat didn’t have a lot to put in the space at all, but there is so much natural light, and while the kitchen is small, it is efficiently laid out, with lots of storage and counter space. Griffin walks through, inspecting the place, which smells like incense and coffee. The paint colors look great in person and everything is very clean. He can tell Pat worked hard and tells him so. 

Pat beams, proud of his efforts. “It was very… cleansing. I had a lot of fun, honestly. It felt like, I don’t know, like laying down a foundation for everything else.” 

Griffin hugs him again and kisses the white spot in his short, scruffy beard. “You did good, bud.” 

They leave Cecil in the carrier until they have everything up from the car, then set up his food and litter box before finally setting him free, letting him roam the new space and sniff around. The movers won’t arrive until the morning and Ashley has agreed to babysit Cecil while they are getting everything in, so he is neither in the way nor traumatized by all the commotion. 

With nothing left to unpack or do until tomorrow, the two of them find themselves staring awkwardly at each other in the bedroom, wanting to say and do a hundred things at once. They’ve both daydreamed about this moment for so long that it’s hard to know what to do next. Pat finally decides for them and kisses Griffin, gently guiding him to the air mattress and laying him down, crawling over him and straddling his hips. Griffin sighs and pulls Pat against him, neither of them in any hurry, savoring what they have missed for so long. They kiss and roll around on the loud mattress for a good long while, swinging back and forth between falling into giggles and nearly in tears, whispering over and over how much they’ve missed each other, how much they love each other, how they never want to be apart again. 

At length, clothes start to come off, both of them flushed and breathing a little harder, a little faster. Pat crawls backwards off the bed and tugs Griffin around the waist until he is sitting comfortably on his knees between Griffin’s thighs, kissing across his soft, warm belly as he opens his pants and strokes him. Hearing Griffin sigh and being able to nuzzle against his warm skin is a gift after so much time apart. Griffin’s hands squeeze at Pat’s shoulders and rub through his hair. 

When one hand comes around to cup his face, Pat sucks Griffin’s thumb into his mouth. Griffin moans loudly, curling his thumb down over Pat’s bottom teeth. The salty taste on his tongue has Pat salivating for more, pulling away from Griffin’s hands and pushing his hair out of his face, leaning down to kiss the crown of Griffin’s dick before he starts to suck at it. Griffin’s hips wiggle and he starts making the most incredible, soft noises, encouraging Pat to keep going, working his mouth around Griffin, taking as much of it as he can before he starts to gag. 

Griffin sits up on his elbows to watch, dancing the line between indulging and restraining himself. He’s been left to toys and his own hand for so long, Pat’s hot, wet mouth feels amazing, his hands on his thighs and the warmth of him between his legs a comfort. He knows he’s going to spend weeks, maybe even months, constantly touching and hugging Pat, skin-hungry to the point of ravenous and ready to take advantage of finally having him again. 

Griffin is chewing his lip and panting softly, his fingers gripping the sheets as it starts to feel too good and he gently pushes Pat away, sitting up and leaning to kiss him. “You’ve got lube?” Pat nods and wipes his mouth, climbing back onto the squeaky mattress and pulling a little bottle from under a pillow, flipping onto his back and wriggling out of his jeans. Griffin does the same and crawls across the bed over Pat, the air mattress bouncing them around, making them fall into giggles that turn into kisses that fade into moans as Griffin’s fingers slide inside Pat and Pat’s thighs part for him, writhing under him slowly as Griffin sucks a dark bruise onto his neck. 

Tears spring to Pat’s eyes as Griffin pushes inside and Griffin stops, unsure if he’s going too fast. “Are you okay?” 

Pat nods and wraps his legs around Griffin’s waist, pulling him in closer. “Yeah, I’m okay. You feel really, really good.” The last words come out as little sobs and Griffin kisses his face, whispering to him that he feels good, too, circling his hips until Pat calms down a little before starting to thrust. Pat’s hand clutch onto his back and he can’t stop kissing Griffin, both of them leaving their eyes open, unable to look away from one another. 

Pat gets lost in the sensation for a little while, overwhelmed, clawing at Griffin’s back until Griffin shouting pulls him out of it. “Babe, that hurts!” He’s laughing a little and Pat rubs at his back, apologizing softly. Griffin pulls one of his hands down and laces their fingers, peppering kisses along Pat’s jaw. “It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got time.” The energy that Pat had started to push towards frantic simmers back down to a rolling, slow warmth, touching and kissing and feeling each other, soaking up each other’s presence. 

It’s hard to gauge how long they’ve been wrapped up in each other and Griffin is covered in sweat, beginning to pant hard. Pat wants to give him a break and take over for a while, bringing his knees up to hug against Griffin’s ribs and wrapping his arms around his back to roll them over. He overshoots it a little, however, and the shift in weight makes the air mattress tip, dumping them both onto the floor with all the pillows and blankets. Pat apologizes through a fit of laughter and pulls a pillow under Griffin’s head, pushing him onto his back and sinking himself back down over Griffin’s cock with a long moan, Griffin’s hands going to Pat’s hips and Pat reaching to hold onto Griffin’s wrists, riding him slow and steady with intervals of more urgent bucking. Pat is starting to work towards the edge and trying to restrain himself, leaning down to kiss Griffin, working his hips back against Griffin thrusting up into him. When he stops, Pat whimpers and sits up to look down at him, Griffin panting and looking a little embarrassed when he tells Pat that being on the floor is hurting his back. 

Pat only smiles and kisses him again, standing up to help Griffin to his feet before grabbing the dirty towel from his morning shower and putting it under himself as he lays down on his stomach across the mattress, Griffin following him without a word and kissing across his back. Pat gasps and pushes back against him as Griffin shoves inside, grinding deep, cupped to Pat’s back and slipping his hands under Pat’s to once again lace their fingers, squeezing onto each other. Pat plants one knee in the mattress and works his hips back into Griffin’s movements, rutting against the towel and turning his head to kiss Griffin between moans and sighs. 

They both begin to come undone, pressed together and touching at every possible point, Griffin’s face buried in Pat’s throat and his breath and voice rippling over Pat’s skin as he babbles out how much he loves Pat, how good he feels, how much he has missed him. The tears are back and blurring Pat’s vision as Griffin’s pace picks up, Pat craning his neck back and nuzzling his brow against Griffin’s temple, whimpering “I love you, I love you” as they’re pulling each other over, bodies going tight and rigid, then quaking and pulsing, bubbling up loud sounds of pleasure, and then limp. 

Pat is more than happy to take Griffin’s weight, letting him squish him into the mattress, laying under him in a boneless, sated puddle. They stay this way until they are no longer breathing hard and Griffin is soft, slipping out of Pat and helping him clean himself up a bit, tossing the dirty towel off in a corner and maneuvering around on the bouncy mattress to lay together, a tangle of sweaty arms and legs. Pat scoots down just enough to rest his head on Griffin’s shoulder, nuzzling his nose across Griffin’s chin, rough with stubble. Fingertips dance absently over skin and Griffin finds himself staring at Pat again, drinking him in. 

He is surprised to notice Pat looks older, the youthful androgyny he’d had when they first met now waning, making him look even more handsome. He at least doesn’t seem any taller, unlike the first year that he’d shot up an inch and a half in a late and sudden growth spurt. Griffin runs his fingers through Pat’s dark hair, now down to his shoulders, exaggerating his already long, pale, slender neck. He has always thought Pat was beautiful, but he can’t recall him ever being more beautiful than he is right now. He wants to tell him so, but what comes out, through a blissed-out, dopey grin is “you fuckin’ gorgeous mother fucker,” and they are both laughing again, hugging each other tight. 

Griffin huffs and rubs his eyes. “Shit, I’m exhausted, sorry.” Pat shakes his head and shifts around, Griffin now lying with his head on Pat’s chest, Pat rubbing his back. 

“It’s okay, you’ve had a long couple days. Do you wanna sleep first or eat first?” 

Griffin mumbles out simply “yeah” and Pat snickers, figuring that must be in favor of sleep, but then Griffin asks, “When did you first realize you loved me?” 

Pat is surprised by the question, having to think about it. There are a lot of moments that come to mind, falling in love with Griffin had been such a new feeling, it seemed like trial and error and involved a lot of second-guesses and self-doubt. He stalls, trying to think back to what had been the exact moment. “When was it for you?” 

Griffin doesn’t mind the deflection, sighing heavily and getting comfortable against Pat. “The first morning after we slept together. Not like, had sex, but that first night we slept in the same bed. Shit, it was this fuckin’ air mattress, wasn’t it?” 

Pat nods, remembering the night. They weren’t even really dating yet, just fooling around, and Pat had the air mattress in his bedroom. It was the first time the making out and jerking off had been something more romantic, they had laid together and talked for hours, and Griffin had admitted he had feelings for Pat. Thinking of it now is so full-circle, it feels almost ceremonial to recall. 

Griffin grins sleepily. “Waking up next to you was so… I don’t know, I just knew I wanted to do it for the rest of my life. It felt scary then, way too soon, but… I guess I’ve just always known.” 

It makes Pat feel tingly and warm to think back on where they had started, to know Griffin had been sure about them all along. “I think I knew, I don’t know… I feel like I fell in love with you right from the beginning, like the first time you asked me to hang out and wanted to be my friend, I was always so flustered around you and I didn’t know why? But I knew…” 

Griffin listens to Pat’s voice rumble through his chest, and then the sound of his heartbeat when he pauses, waiting for him to find the right words. 

“The night I first told you, honestly. That’s when I knew for sure. I was so… I was so fucking depressed, and in my own head and I was convinced you were going to dump me, but you just kept… seeking me out, and trying to make me feel better and let me know you were there, and you never did it in a way that made me feel like I was… broken. Or like you could fix me. I didn’t want to go out that night, but you convinced me I should because you wanted me to have a good time and you wanted us to try and just… have some normalcy, but it never felt like you were paving over what I was dealing with? You were trying to give me some space from it, to give me a distraction for a while, and I realized you weren’t going anywhere, that me being… so fucked up and in my head and sad wasn’t pushing you away, and I think, I dunno… I realized I loved you at the same moment I realized you actually loved me.” 

Pat has his eyes closed and there are tears leaking from the corners, thinking back to that night, going out to a movie and dinner with Griffin and being so exhausted and distant, but realizing how hard Griffin was trying, and that he didn’t think Pat was just going to snap out of it, but wanting to help him not be sucked down by it for just one night. He remembers the huge storm as they left the theatre, the rain beating down on the car as they sat in the parking lot outside the apartment, waiting for a break so they wouldn’t get soaked trying to get inside. Reaching over to take Griffin’s hand and seeing him smile, feeling it wash through him like a wave, leaning across the center console to kiss him, and being so afraid to say the words, but finally getting them out. How happy Griffin had looked to hear them, almost two months since he’d admitted he was in love with Pat. It’s a good memory, but it squeezes around Pat’s throat all the same, especially after all they’ve been through in the last year and having Griffin here with him again. 

Griffin’s fingers trailing over his skin start to slow, moving clumsily now, and Pat can tell he is almost asleep, looking down at him to realize he’s grinning goofily with his eyes closed. Pat hugs him and kisses the top of his head. “What are you smiling about?” 

Griffin hums, sliding his hand down Pat’s side and tucking it under his hip, settling in and getting comfortable for a well-deserved nap. “Mm, I feel like I’m home.” 

Pat’s heart swells and feels like it’s going to burst, but just before it does, the feeling melts like warm honey and he sinks down into the bed, pulling Griffin closer, tucking a blanket around them. He kisses Griffin’s head again as he falls asleep, knowing _home_ is so much more than the walls around them.


	19. Chapter 19

Moving everything in goes smoother than either of them had expected. With the movers’ help, getting the truck unloaded takes little more than an hour, leaving Pat and Griffin the rest of the day to unpack and arrange. The apartment quickly becomes cramped, but cozy. Pat had missed Griffin’s nerdy action figures and shelves stuffed with books, the couch they’d scored from a yard sale and carried three blocks, the matching night stands they’d bought together--their first major purchase as a couple. Pat had already felt comfortable in the space, even with just his air mattress and a folding table for a desk, but now that it feels a little more lived in and familiar, Griffin is starting to understand the particular appeal. 

This bit is the best part, though, and it doesn’t have anything to do with California or the apartment or their neighborhood. It’s waking up with his electric blanket of a boyfriend snuggled against his back, Pat’s hand looped under Griffin’s arm, holding loosely onto his bicep, his sharp nose nuzzled against Griffin’s nape. He could do without Pat’s perpetually high body heat in this summer swelter, but after so long apart, he’ll make an exception. Griffin lays a hand over Pat’s on his arm and strokes his fingers, closing his eyes and considering going back to sleep for a while until Pat snuggles closer to him and sighs awake, realizing Griffin is up when he pulls Pat’s arms tighter around him. 

Pat chuckles sleepily and buries his face in Griffin’s neck, leaving little kisses. “Mmm, happy anniversary.” His voice is very rough and soft, deeper than normal. Griffin loves his morning voice. 

Rolling over, he gives Pat a proper kiss, tangling their legs together. “Very happy two years together. Does it feel that long to you?” 

Pat rubs at Griffin’s triangular patch of chest hair, blinking sleepily. “Feels way longer. And not long? This last year, though… good riddance.” He scoffs a laugh and kisses Griffin again. “I’m good for two more. Ten more?” 

They both smile and Griffin pulls Pat close, kissing at his neck, making Pat sigh and press up against him. They’ve been all over each other since Griffin got into LA, making up for lost time. Griffin’s hands are wandering when Cecil comes galloping into the room and springs onto the bed, meowing loudly, demanding breakfast. Griffin groans and pulls away from Pat, who is laughing, picking up Cecil and carrying him into the kitchen to feed him. It’s time to get up, anyway, they have a drive ahead of them. 

They had decided to spend their anniversary furniture shopping, and maybe going out to dinner or finding a nice bakery after if they have the energy or time. They had worked a few furniture purchases into their budget--a loveseat and some storage for the bedroom, a couple rugs, a real desk for Pat so he could finally retire the plastic folding table--and in all honesty, trips to IKEA are always an adventure. They had picked one a couple hours north in hopes it would be less crowded and better stocked than the smaller outlets around Los Angeles, and the drive up through the mountains would make it a nice scenic trip. 

Pat makes them some toast with peanut butter and banana slices while Griffin gets dressed and they have breakfast in the car, stopping for iced coffee before leaving the city. It’s hot but dry, which is bearable, both of them in shorts and t-shirts. Pat warns that the real blazers come towards the end of August, but for now, it’s a pleasant kind of summer heat, the hills green and dotted with flowers. 

At one point, they past a stretch of black, bare trunks and ashy, dry land, the remnants of a wildfire from late spring, still smelling strongly of smoke and char. The grey and black barrenness had devoured a whole valley and it’s one of the things Griffin hasn’t looked forward to about California, along with the earthquakes. Natural disasters are one of his deep-set fears, and they’re a part of the landscape here, just a reality of the environment, clashing with civilization. He had been lax about it before, but already, Griffin has well-stocked go-bags in his car and at the new apartment, as well as the one for Cecil he and Pat had made. When he’d first learned that Pat keeps one, it had made him feel apprehensive to realize Pat was ready to uproot and leave at a moment’s notice, but he’s come to understand why, and appreciate it. If any sort of emergency were to arise that they had to leave without warning, they have the essentials packed and ready. Griffin hates that this is how Pat has had to live for so long, always having to consider practical survival necessities in the back of his mind, but it’s made them both prepared for the unexpected, and it eases his mind about dealing with the more dangerous possibilities of his geologically and ecologically tumultuous new home. 

As they near the store, there’s a bizarre anticipation between them, increased as they pull into the huge parking lot under the shadow of the enormous building. Something about IKEA always feels like the world’s most demure theme park, the scale of it alone worth some awe. Griffin texts himself their parking zone so they don’t forget and takes Pat’s hand. 

They head upstairs and have lunch in the cafe first, sharing a slice of cake before finally heading into the store, hooked arm-in-arm leaning over the pushbar of the huge shopping cart. Despite having very specific purchase goals, they take their time through every section, just to look and hang out. Pat likes to touch all the fabric items and find the weirdly quiet, hidden nooks of the store. Griffin can’t resist at least browsing all the bargain sections. 

They find a couple area rugs they like--a neutral grey for the bedroom with leaf patterns, and a teal, green, and yellow abstract one for the living room--but they are too big to fit in the car. However, thanks to the blessing of modern technology, Pat finds both online available from one of the local LA outlets and has them ordered within a few minutes, scheduled for delivery early next week. 

That item marked off their list, they wander on through a particularly deserted section with closet doors and cabinets and Pat finds a good makeout spot they take advantage of for a little while, hidden away in a dark corner between some tall french doors on display. The quiet, secret kisses are scattered with muffled laughs, and they stop only when they hear a small family heading their way and move on towards the office furniture, blushing and loosely holding onto each other around the waist. 

Pat spends a lot of time worrying over what desk he likes best, and what he thinks is a fair price. Griffin can tell he likes one that is more on the expensive side and talks him into it. “It’s worth it in the long run, right? I mean, a good desk can last you your lifetime. This is the one you want, isn’t it?” 

Pat frets over it, still. “Yeah, but… it’s just really expensive, and everything else is for both of us, and this is just for me. I don’t wanna feel like… I dunno. I just feel like it’s selfish.” 

Griffin tilts his head, not having considered such a notion at all. “It’s not selfish. I want you to have a nice organized place to work, too. If it really bothers you, just think of my half of it as a late birthday present.” He writes down the model number of the desk and tugs Pat along, settling the matter. 

Pat purses his lips, but lets Griffin lead him away, leaning against him with a quiet “thank you”. It’s tough sometimes for him to justify letting himself have nice things. He’s glad to have Griffin there to assure him he deserves to get what he wants once in awhile. 

It’s the middle of the week and surprisingly quiet. The store is so enormous, there are whole sections devoid of other people, feeling on occasion to be abandoned, especially when they pass through a section currently in the midst of a restock and rearrangement, only half-lit and one side of the huge space barren and dark. Pat is convinced that some parts of IKEA aren’t even real. 

They make it through to a sea of sofas and armchairs, cuddling on a few loveseats and agreeing on one that also has some storage built into it, then take the elevator down to the next floor and get very distracted by all the knick knacks and decorative items. They sniff several candles before deciding on a scent for the bedroom and then play a sort of hide and seek around the displays. It is Pat’s turn to seek and when he finds Griffin around a corner, Griffin has a box in his hand and drops down on one knee with a cheesy grin, opening the box and holding it out. Inside is a huge glass paperweight cut like a diamond. Griffin waggles his eyebrows and Pat laughs nervously, caught off guard. For half a second he hadn’t realized Griffin was only kidding around and his first reaction was… surprise? Panic? 

Griffin notices and puts the box back on the shelf, getting up and grabbing the cart, pushing onward through the store. “I was just joking, y’know.” 

Pat catches up with him, confused by how the energy had gone stale and sour. “I know you were.” 

“You didn’t have to look so terrified. I know marriage isn’t your thing, I shelved that dream already.” 

_Ouch._ Pat actually winces. He hadn’t known Griffin had taken his aversion to the classic monogamy ritual so much to heart. He puts a hand on Griffin’s arm and makes him stop, turning towards him. “Hey. That’s not what I meant and I think you know that. I don’t really get what’s so special about being married? But I do want to be with you. I’m committed to you, dummy.” Griffin won't look at him and Pat knows he’s embarrassed for letting such a passive-aggressive jab slip. Pat reaches out and brushes the his knuckles against Griffin’s cheek. “I don’t really care about the whole ceremony of it, but, if you asked me marry you, I’d say yes, Griffin. You know that, right?” 

Griffin finally looks up at him, hopeful and a little stunned. “Really?” 

“Yes, really, dumb-butt. Just, not in the middle of an IKEA, please?” 

Griffin snorts, nodding, taking Pat’s hand and moving on through a jungle of fake plants. “Not in an IKEA.” He’s very quiet for a bit and Pat doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s grinning like a fool when he speaks up again. “So what you’re saying is… one day… you’re gonna be my husband. Right? Am I understanding this correctly?” 

Pat lets out a loud, exasperated sigh, but he’s smiling. “Technically, yes, but don’t push it.” 

“I know! I know…” Griffin can’t get the smile off his face, kissing it against the back of Pat’s hand that he’s holding. “We’ve got time.” 

They find another makeout corner in the kitchen supplies and get caught by another young couple, trying to pretend like they’d been very interested in the pressure cookers before quickly escaping, holding back laughter. When they finally reach the long checkout corral, they have the loveseat and desk in boxes, the candle, a few mugs and bowls and some elderberry syrup, and a simple chandelier for the bedroom to replace the hideous early nineties brass monstrosity currently hanging over the bed. It had been on sale and they both hate the current fixture so much, it’s worth the money. 

Checking out makes Pat sweat. While within their budget, it’s a lot more all together than he had been prepared for, but Griffin kisses his cheek and reassures him this is what they had saved for. They load the car, having to fold down the back seat to fit the boxes, and Pat drives back, leaving Griffin to air guitar and sing to him through the mountains. 

Back in LA, they stop at a small bakery to pick up a mixed box of petit fours and some handmade chocolates. Griffin already has a couple bottles of cheap champagne in the fridge, and Pat has Griffin’s mom’s casserole ready to be put in the oven. They arrive home and carry up their haul, spending the rest of the afternoon assembling Pat’s desk and the loveseat, and installing the chandelier over the bed. It suits the room much better than the old one, with a simple design of clear acrylic wedges, coating in a translucent multichrome foil, like a pastel oil slick. The light scatters off the hanging prisms and casts faint colored blobs on the walls which Cecil tries to catch before giving up and breaking in the new loveseat for a nap. 

The sunset is purple and orange in their west-facing windows when dinner is coming out of the oven. They eat on the couch and watch some TV for background noise, and after, Griffin pops a bottle of champagne, taking his laptop and the box of sweets into the the bedroom to curl up with Pat. The relax and watch a movie while they snack and drink and cuddle and kiss. Pat gets hot and strips down to his underwear, prompting Griffin to do the same, and it isn’t long before the movie is neglected and they’re sharing sugary, tart kisses and grinding sweaty bodies against each other. It’s over quickly, a not-so-dry hump, half-drunk and tired, but neither mind. 

Pat traces around Griffin’s face with the tip of one finger as they lay together in a heap, floaty-drunk and swarming with butterflies. As difficult as the past year has been, it’s nice to feel like they are having a second honeymoon phase now, enamored with each other and not taking a single moment for granted. “I’m sorry if I seemed spooked earlier.” Griffin shrugs a little, but Pat presses on. “I know you were just kidding around, but I also know marriage is something important to you, that it means something to you. I don’t… I don’t get it, honestly, and I’m not ready for that right now, or maybe anytime soon? But I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Griffin. I don’t want you to think any differently. I’m not still weighing my options or anything, as far as I’m concerned… you’re it for me. I just… I like being your boyfriend right now. I don’t think I need to be anything else to love you more, or be more serious about being with you… indefinitely. That part doesn’t scare me. I just like things how they are for now.” 

Griffin listens carefully, nodding along. It feels good to hear, to know Pat isn’t just riding this train until it gets boring, as if the last year hadn’t proved it to him. “I know that. And I promise, I’m not dying to get married soon, either. But it is something, at least now, that I… I’d like to have one day. I know it doesn’t seem like much of a difference to you, and you’re probably right, but it’s just… always been important to me. It’s hard to explain.” 

“You don’t have to.” Pat snuggles closer and strokes Griffin’s hair. “I told you, if you ever asked--” 

“You’ll say yes.” That still makes Griffin smile so wide it almost hurts his cheeks. “And I _will_ ask you one day. You’re okay with that?” 

Pat kisses him softly, feeling Griffin’s hands start to get a little more grabby with him, pulling him close. “Yes, idiot, I’m okay with that.” Pat shivers when Griffin rolls their hips together and grabs onto his short hair. “Round two?” 

“Yes, please!” Griffin’s eyes flash dangerously and he bites Pat’s shoulder, rolling them so that he can straddle Pat’s hips, satisfied to leave their conversation at that. There’s no rush. For now, they’ve got time, and there are still plenty of satisfying things to do with it.


	20. Chapter 20

Within the first month, they have sex on nearly every surface, in every room of the apartment. Pat’s usually dormant libido has been in overdrive, and it has always been hard to tell Griffin no, whether he’s really in the mood or not. Griffin usually gets him there quickly enough. The time apart has left them eager to please each other, hungry for touch. 

Currently, Pat has Griffin bent over the kitchen counter, Griffin braced against the sink with one hand up on the window frame, slamming himself back against Pat, loud and unruly. Pat has never quite gotten used to Griffin’s filthy mouth or sexual exuberance, they always catch him off guard more than put him in the mood, but he has no complaints. He bites his lip to keep from chuckling when Griffin starts to lose it, his legs shaking and head laid down on the cool countertop. “Baby! Oooh, _fuck!_ Harder, babe, please!” One hand wings back and clasps onto Pat’s thigh as Pat tries to oblige, making good use of Griffin’s squishy love handles and giving him all he’s got. The noises that come out of Griffin are _magnificent_ , wanton and warbling, somewhere between pain and ecstasy. He let’s out one raspy “ _Patrick!_ ” before it’s all strangled mewls and tense, quaking body. 

Pat leans over him and presses his forehead to the middle of Griffin’s back, hissing through his teeth as Griffin clenches so tight around him, Pat has to work himself in, burying his cock in Griffin and letting him ride it out, feeling him twitch and buck weakly until he finally stops, panting and barely holding himself up. Pat gives him a moment to recover before he starts to thrust again, not quite there. Griffin lets out a sharp, surprised sound, sure Pat had cum with him, but it feels incredible to be worked over while his body is still surging with afterglow, nerves sparking and overridden. He leans back into Pat and turns his head to cast him a burning glance over his shoulder. “Do you want me to suck it?” 

Pat tries not to wrinkle his nose. He has boundaries, Griffin knows that, but Griffin would also say and do anything after a good orgasm. Pat leans over him again and nibbles Griffin’s ear, making him shudder all the way down to his toes. He doesn’t mean for it to come out that way, but his voice is deep and rough when he tells Griffin very plainly, “I wanna finish inside,” and Griffin lets out a wail just to hear Pat be so dirty, angling his hips more for him. 

“ _Babe_ , yes, oh my _god_ , fill me up!” He can’t quite explain why being fucked after he’s already spent turns him on so much, but Griffin had stopped wondering about his weird sexual interests some time ago and just lets himself enjoy them. He squirms under Pat and intentionally clenches and rolls his hips, wanting to make it feel good for him, grinning victoriously when Pat groans and starts to lose his rhythm. “Give it to me, baby, take what you need,” he purrs out, sighing and holding on for dear life when Pat does just that, squeezing his eyes shut and pounding into Griffin desperately, hung up on the edge, and then finally being pulled under, slamming in and holding Griffin against him hard enough to bruise as he loses himself. Griffin whimpers, feeling Pat twitch and pulse inside him. 

A hot dribble of cum rolls down Griffin’s thigh as Pat pulls out and Griffin loves being left such a mess. He turns around and leans back against the counter, pulling Pat to him, drenched in sweat and out of breath, kissing him sloppily, all tongue and love-drunk panting. Pat loops his arms around Griffin’s waist and hoists him up to sit him on the counter for a more opportune kiss-height. Pressing close, tugging at Griffin’s bottom lip between his teeth, he notices Griffin is still hard and pulls away just enough to look at him, then down at Griffin’s cock between them. He isn’t quite soft, himself, and his hands reach to wrap around them both, stroking steadily. He nips at Griffin’s jaw, speaking muffled against his throat as he sucks a spot there even darker, “do you want more?” 

Griffin immediately spreads his thighs and yanks Pat between them, offering himself up. “Mm, yeah, I think I might need another load.” 

Pat snickers “ _gross_ ” and kisses Griffin’s mouth slow and sure before he’s pushing back in, and the afternoon slips away. 

They finally make it into a shower and Griffin has to get dressed for work. He’d quickly landed a job delivering pizza for a national chain and he hates it, but it’s money they need, and he’s already got a better job at an electronics store lined up that he starts in a week. 

He’s already feeling bummed out about it, he’s been working retail and other customer service jobs since he was fifteen and he had told himself that once he had his degree, he could finally get a “real” job, working at a radio or TV station, or maybe with an online news outlet, _something_ in the field he’d spent four years studying. Now here he is in a media hotspot with a degree, and can’t find any job offers he’s qualified for. It’s discouraging, and as happy as he is to be with Pat, LA isn’t settling right with him yet. The west coast feels different in such a visceral, implacable way that makes him homesick for Appalachia. He keeps telling himself it’s too soon to call, maybe he’ll like it here, maybe something good will come along and make him feel a little more like he belongs. At home with Pat, he feels safe and comfortable, but the rest of the city feels like another reality, a parallel universe just different enough to feel wrong. 

Or maybe he just really fucking hates being a pizza boy. He’s certainly glad tonight is one of his last. He has no idea how Pat puts up with waiting tables. He’d been a server at two different restaurants when they met, and he’s now working a second job for the summer as a server at a cafe several blocks from the apartment. Griffin marvels at his patience. People are rude, working around food is gross, and the tips are shit. One of the other drivers got robbed a few nights ago. _Fuck this job_ has become a sort of mantra to keep himself at ease and not climbing up the walls irritated and worried these are the kind of jobs he has to look forward to for the foreseeable future. 

He comes out of the bedroom and puts on a belt, tucking in his hot, uncomfortable uniform shirt and grabbing his keys. Pat is on the couch with Cecil in his lap and picks up the cat’s front paws, waving them. “Have a good time at work, Daddy!” It’s in the Cecil voice they both do when putting words in the tabby’s mouth. “We’ll miss you!” 

Griffin realizes he’s been stewing the whole time he was getting ready and sighs out the tension he’s collected in his shoulders, leaning over the back of the couch and kissing Pat, then picking up Cecil and kissing him right on his little mouth, setting him back in Pat’s lap. “Y’all be good.” 

Pat responds in the Cecil voice again, “We will _tryyyy_!” Griffin shakes his head and kisses Pat one more time before heading out the door. 

He runs into Simone and Ashley in the hallway, they’re coming back to the apartment carrying groceries, and they exchange some quick niceties. He hasn’t really gotten to know either of them yet, they’ve mostly had run-ins like this and some chats in the mailroom. The girls have been giving he and Pat some space, time to be alone together and settle in, which he appreciates, but what little he knows of them so far, he likes. 

Simone is willowy and pretty and will say just any damn thing, and he gets the distinct impression she might actually be from some hidden faerie realm. Her smile is all front teeth and gums and her large blue eyes are intelligent and playful, almost uncomfortably focused on whomever she’s speaking with. She always looks at him like she knows things about him he doesn’t know she knows (which might be true from Pat), and she has small ears which stick out that give her an impish, mischievous look that he’s certain is accurate to her character. Ashley is stylish and effortlessly cool, unselfconscious and friendly, but with a presence about her that is mildly intimidating. She’s more guarded than her girlfriend, a little harder to read, but he’s seen her brim with excitement talking with Pat about videogames, and it was an enticing peak under the more aloof exterior. He knows they’ve both become attached to Pat, looking out for him while Griffin was still in Austin, and that’s all he really needs to know to like them. 

He is barely clocked in before he’s sent out for his first delivery, and they’re back to back for most of the night. He supposes he at least prefers driving to doing prep work at the back of the shop, he hates handling food if it’s not in his own kitchen, and being in the car by himself makes him much less anxious than standing behind a register or answering phones. It’s fairly mindless work, truth be told, following his GPS, swapping food for cash, backtracking to the store, rinse, repeat. He feels silly for hating such an easy job, but being easy is part of what he hates. It’s like his brain is turning to mush, and he’s so sick of putting on his people face for a couple bucks in tips. The electronics store will be like Guitar Center all over again, but at least that’s a devil he knows. And maybe, with luck, he’ll find something soon enough to actually put his broadcast journalism degree to some use. 

It’s almost two in the morning when he quietly slips into the apartment. It’s hushed and still, with only some light from outside and the lamp by the bookshelf to illuminate the space. He’s sure Pat left the lamp on for him, they both are still developing their spacial awareness of the place. They could walk through the apartment in Austin in the dark without much issue, familiar with it, but both of them have stubbed their toes just getting up to pee at night here. It will take time, but the familiarity will come. 

Griffin turns off the lamp and closes both bathroom doors so he doesn’t wake Pat, shucking off his work clothes that smell like pizza grease and getting ready for bed. When he’s done, he feels his way across the dark bedroom and lets his eyes adjust, pulling back the covers and sliding into bed. Pat rolls over as the mattress dips and instinctively moves towards him, curling up around him and kissing him sleepily. “Good work?” he asks in a groggy voice, nuzzling into Griffin’s neck. 

Griffin fits up against him, clasping his hands at the small of Pat’s back. “It was work. I got tipped a joint.” 

Pat snorts. “What? Really?” Griffin nods. “...You wanna smoke?” 

Griffin goes to get the joint from the empty cigarette pack he’d been handed it in and returns to the bedroom, where Pat is opening the window behind the loveseat. Pat has lit the candle on the nightstand, but all the other lights remain off. They curl up on it together and Griffin shotguns the first hit into Pat’s mouth, a sort of tradition for them, kissing him gently before parting, passing the joint back and forth, letting smoke curl through the screen and out the window. 

They are silent for a good while, legs tangled up together, rubbing at a knobby knee or soft inner elbow absently. Pat scrubs a hand back through his hair, watching the dim silhouette of Griffin in the orange and blue street light filtering up from below. He catches just shapes and occasionally one eye, the curve of his mouth or the outline of his jaw bathed in light before he leans back into shadow. It’s the quiet intimate moments like this he’s missed, the still eddies where the way they simply fit together, how comfortable and natural and relaxed they feel around each other, is most evident. He passes the joint back and their fingers brush, and even though he’d fucked Griffin sore just hours before, somehow this feels more sensual. “I was dreaming about you.” 

Griffin grins and blows a slow stream of smoke out the window. “Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Pat reaches to rest a hand on Griffin’s knee, rubbing his thigh. “We were… camping? Hiking? I don’t know. But I remember we were laying on a blanket on a hillside covered in flowers, and you kept pointing at clouds and telling me we were gonna live there? I don’t know, dreams are weird, but it was really nice.” 

Griffin laughs quietly through his nose. “It sounds really nice, buddy.” He kisses Pat and passes back the joint, too short for him now. Pat pinches between his fingernails and smokes it down to a tiny nub, shotgunning the last few hits with Griffin in smoky, hot kisses. When the joint is good and dead, Pat flushes the last of it and returns to Griffin on the loveseat, who is starting to feel stoned and unwinding. Pat rubs at his shoulders and his back to help him relax. 

They stay by the window for a while, kissing and hugging onto each other gently, drowsily soaking up each other’s touch. Pat finally convinces Griffin to come to bed before he falls asleep sitting up, and Griffin insists on being the big spoon, though he fits more like a jetpack, his face between Pat’s boney, birdlike shoulderblades, curled around his warmth, breathing in his scent. 

The cannabis lulls them both into a restful, deep sleep. Pat’s alarm doesn’t wake Griffin in the morning, but he rouses as Pat is getting dressed for work, laying in bed and squinting at him without his glasses on, watching him get ready. He looks very handsome in waiter’s get-up--black slacks and slim-fit black button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his long hair pulled back into a neat bun--and Griffin likes watching him when he doesn’t know he’s being watched. A Pat in his natural habitat, unaware of being observed. 

Pat closes the closet door, carrying his shoes, and finally notices Griffin is awake. He smiles and sits down on the bed next to him, pulling on his socks and shoes. Griffin rubs his back, knowing they’ll probably not see each other for the rest of the day. Pat is working breakfast at the cafe, and then bikes five miles to the bookstore to work until the evening. By the time he gets home, Griffin will have already left for his last night driving delivery, and won’t be home until very late. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to work this afternoon?” 

Pat grins at the offer, but shakes his head. “It’s okay. With the traffic, it probably wouldn’t be any faster.” He notices Griffin pout and leans to kiss him, realizing Griffin probably just wanted the little bit of time to see him. “We’re both off tomorrow, you can have me all day. You can always walk down and get some breakfast before I finish my shift.” 

Griffin contemplates this for a moment. “Those croissants _are_ pretty amazing…” 

Pat snorts and kisses him one more time, standing up and grabbing his bag. “Well, I’m there until noon. Go back to sleep.” 

Griffin sits up as Pat goes to leave. “Wait!” Pat stops and comes back to the bed, letting Griffin tug him back down. “Tell me you love me?” 

He looks absolutely pathetic, and it’s all a put-on, but Pat falls for it, anyway, wrapping his arms around Griffin and laying him back down on the bed, murmuring against his mouth that he loves him more than all the stars in the sky--Griffin jokes that here in the city there aren’t many--and that he’ll think of him all day. When he finally sits up again, he puts the little stuffed fox in Griffin’s arms to hug in his absence. Griffin seems satisfied, squeezing Pat’s hand as he stands to leave. 

“Hey… I love you, too.” Griffin sits up again just to hold Pat’s hand a little longer as he pulls away, falling back onto the bed as their fingertips slip apart. He knows it will fade, but for the time being he’s still offended by every second Pat isn’t within twenty feet of him. 

He hears Pat leave the apartment and goes back to sleep, waking up with just enough time to get dressed and walk down to the cafe. He’d considered not being so clingy, but the way Pat gets flustered and excited when he sees him dashes any worry that he’s overstepping boundaries. It’s busy, but he steals a few kisses from Pat while he waits for his sandwich. When they were first flirting, he would eat at the restaurants where Pat waited tables just to spend time with him, sometimes getting Pat to sit down for a while, but there’s too many other patrons here and try to get some attention from Pat. He decides to take his food back to the apartment to eat. 

He waves goodbye as he’s leaving, but Pat chases him out the door, stopping him on the sidewalk. “Hey! You didn’t say you love me.” He’s grinning and Griffin walks back and hugs him, correcting his error gladly and giving Pat another kiss. He realizes they’re standing right in front of the full window of the cafe and cuts his eyes at the customers inside. Part of him is self conscious to be seen, but another part would gladly tell anyone on the street how madly in love he is. 

“Aren’t you worried they might not tip you?” 

Pat shakes his head, pulling Griffin close for one last kiss. “Worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, moonbeams, this is your pilot speaking. you'll notice this fic is no longer _x out of ?_ chapters. there's still a dozen more installments to come, but the end is in sight. but wait! i have another long fic in the works that will start posting at the tail end of this one, and if you're curious, you can find teasers on my tumblr, [@sstarshipp](http://sstarshipp.tumblr.com), under the _[fic related nonsense](http://sstarshipp.tumblr.com/tagged/fic_related_nonsense)_ tag, where i'll also be posting some steamy ashley/simone shorts that won't make it into the body of this fic. (maybe they'll still end up on ao3? we'll see.) in general, you're welcome to follow me there and even suggest/request some scenes you'd like to see before the fic ends, or direct any questions you might have my way ♡(ू•ᴗ•ू)


	21. Chapter 21

Pat sits on the edge of the bed with his hands in his lap, letting Griffin wear himself out while he angrily lectures Pat about sunscreen. They had been getting ready to go with Ashley and Simone to the beach, and when Pat had announced he was ready to leave, but had not put on sunscreen, a few poking questions and Pat’s inability to lie later revealed he hadn’t been wearing any the whole year he was in LA. 

Griffin is pacing through the bedroom, fuming. “And you bike everywhere! You’re out in the sun all the time!” 

Pat pouts, trying not to feel like a scolded child. “I know, I’m sorry…” 

“Three weeks! Three weeks, Pat! That’s all it took! She was fine, and then she was gone.” 

“I know! Griffin, I was stupid, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not fucking hard to just… wear some goddamn SPF! Please!” 

Pat purses his lips and fights very hard not to cry. He hates when Griffin gets mad at him, but he knows he’s right, and he also knows why Griffin’s such a stickler about it. Griffin finally notices how Pat’s shoulders are sagging and how he’s hanging his head, huffing to himself and trying to calm down. 

“Look… you know why this makes me so mad.” 

Pat sniffs. “I do, yeah.” 

Griffin sighs. It’s the tiny, sad voice Pat gets right before he’s going to cry. “I just don’t want to lose you, okay? I know how easy it is.” 

Pat looks up, rubbing his hands together nervously. “I know, I do. I’m sorry.” 

Griffin sighs again and all the anger snuffs out. He holds the bottle of sunblock out to Pat. “You want me to get your back?” Pat nods and stands up, taking off his shirt and turning to let Griffin rub sunblock on him while he gets his arms. Griffin squeezes Pat’s tense shoulders. “I’m sorry I yelled, I just…” 

Pat shakes his head. “It’s okay, I get it. I didn’t even think about your mom, or I would’ve, I dunno… I would have made a better effort to remember? I’m kind of… bad at taking care of myself when I’m alone.” 

Griffin chews his lip, finishing up rubbing the lotion into Pat’s pale skin. “Well, that’s why you’ve got me to nag you.” They switch and Pat puts sunscreen on Griffin’s back before Griffin makes sure Pat gets himself covered well--legs, ears, chest, all of it--and digs out a different waterproof lotion for their faces. Pat knows Griffin is serious about this, but Pat has a hard time maintaining habits, and had quickly fallen out of this one when he’d moved. Before, Griffin putting on sunscreen every day had been Pat’s prompt to follow suit, but without that, he simply forgot. 

Once they’re actually ready, they’re late, and both Simone and Ashley have texted them several times asking if they’re coming. They go down the hall and knock on the girls’ door and Simone opens it with a giant smile. “Finally!” 

She and Ashley shuffle out of the apartment carrying beach bags and a large umbrella. Ashley shoos Crunchwrap back inside, carefully closing and locking the door. “ _Gah_ , boys take forever!” She winks at them to ensure she’s only kidding and they head downstairs in an echoey chorus of slapping flipflops, piling into Ashley’s Jeep. 

Griffin and Pat pay for parking once they arrive at Dockweiler and the four of them trudge out into the hot sand, hunting for a good spot to lay out beach blankets and set up the umbrella. It isn’t too windy or crowded, and there are a few big puffy clouds that occasionally float past the sun to break up its glaring light. When the clouds pass, it’s comfortably warm, and with the breeze, it’s just the right temperature to relax rather than broil. 

Griffin has a beach chair that he sets up next to Pat’s towel, which is butted up to the edge of Simone and Ashley’s blanket so that he has a bit of shade from the umbrella, too. Griffin puts on a large sunhat and he and Ashley both pull out a book, but Simone and Pat are both eager to get in the water. Simone shimmies out of her shorts and she and Pat tuck their shirts under her bag so they won’t blow away. She’s wearing a very tiny, technicolored bikini and Griffin can’t help himself, seeing all that pale skin, but make sure she’s put on sunscreen. 

Simone snorts. “Yes, _dad_.” She and Pat take off across the sand like a pair of kids, charging into the water and screeching at the chilly temperature. They get used to it quickly, but it’s a shock when first entering the waves, and it takes some time to wade out and fully submerge themselves. Simone is a strong swimmer and bobs along easily, but Pat keeps getting knocked over in the waves, retreating a little to where he can stand, toes sinking into the wet, shifting sands. 

Simone swims over to him and teases him a little about getting bullied by the ocean, and he splashes her in a playful response, which turns into a full-on splash fight. Pat scoops Simone up when she tries to push him into the next wave and he tosses her into it it just as it crests, tumbling her under the surface like a washing machine. She comes up with a wet veil of dark hair over her face, yelling at him, and the play-fight resumes. 

Ashley and Griffin have put off reading, hearing the shouts and watching their partners act like children. Ashley sits up on her elbows, pushing her sunglasses up onto the top of her head, sighing dramatically. “I think we’ve created a monster.” 

Griffin chuckles. “Honestly, Pat doesn’t make friends so easily. I’m good with this monster.” 

Their attention turns back to the water when they hear Pat yelling “no no no no no!”. Simone has him over her shoulder, spinning herself and flinging him off in a graceless splash, but losing her footing and falling in, too. Ashley strips down to her bathing suit and pulls her hair up into a bun. “I think I better go make sure they don’t drown themselves. You mind watching our stuff?” 

Griffin shakes his head and finally starts in on his book. Pat and Simone settle down when Ashley comes to join them, Simone swimming over to Ashley and suckering onto her like an octopus, arms and legs wrapped around her, easy to carry in the buoyancy on the water. Ashley holds onto the back of her thighs, rocking her gently, smiling when Simone leans down to kiss her. “You taste salty.” Simone only grins and kisses her again. Pat blushes a little, watching them. They’re much more open about public displays of affection than he and Griffin are, but he sort of likes that about them. They’re passionate about one another and unapologetic about it, and while they aren’t afraid to talk and joke about sex, they’ve never crossed a line into making him uncomfortable. 

He turns away and crouches down in the water, bobbing in the surf and staring out over the ocean, letting it lull him for a while. There’s something hypnotic and soothing about being in the water and he doesn’t realize he’s been zoned out and unmoving for several minutes until Ashley asks if he’s okay. Simone tags on, “You’re not over there peeing, are you?” 

Pat snaps out of it and laughs, embarrassed. “What? No!” 

Simone grins, finding his reaction suspicious, but doesn’t press. “We’re gonna swim out a little farther, you wanna come?” 

“I’m good here.” He watches them cross the main point where the waves are breaking and get to a calmer spot. Still crouched in the water, they disappear from view as the waves surge up, but in between, he can see them floating on their backs side by side, holding hands so they don’t drift apart. He turns and looks back up the beach at Griffin, lounged back in the low chair, feet buried in the sand, engrossed in his book. 

Pat watches him for a while until Griffin looks up. Pat gives him a little wave, no sure from this distance if Griffin is looking at him or just off in the distance, but Griffin blows him a kiss and Pat feels his heart flop over in his chest. He looks back to make sure the girls aren’t floating out to sea before he starts back towards the beach, wringing out his hair and feeling himself blush as he watches the way Griffin’s eyes rake over him. He kneels down on the towel next to Griffin’s chair and waits for Griffin to close his book and set it aside so he doesn’t drip on it before leaning in under the wide brim of Griffin’s hat for a kiss. 

Griffin rubs his arm, grinning at him. “Having fun?” 

Pat nods, lingering under the shade of the brim for a moment, then kissing Griffin again before he sits back. “Good book?” 

Griffin shrugs. “It’s okay so far.” 

The sun comes out from behind a cloud and Pat shields his eyes with a hand. “Do you wanna come swim with me?” 

Griffin rubs Pat’s arm again, trailing down to his free hand and squeezing it. “Maybe in a little bit? I don’t want to leave all our stuff here unattended.” 

Pat nods, stretching out on his back, and Griffin goes back to his book, still holding Pat’s hand. Pat is half asleep in the warm sun when Ashley and Simone come back, sheltering under the umbrella and sharing a bottle of water from their bag. 

Ashley leans forward past Simone to speak to them both. “So what’s for dinner?” They still don’t know each other very well, but they get along fabulously and have had dinner together twice a week or so for the last month. It’s the boys’ turn to cook this time. 

Griffin closes his book around his finger. “Mm, well I’ve got a frozen lasagna?” He sees Simone pull a face. “It’s homemade, I made it Sunday put it in the freezer to bake for later.” Her look drops and she and Ashley both give a nod of approval. 

“I think we have some garlic bread we haven’t used yet, and some wine,” Ashley offers, absentmindedly petting Simone’s side. 

“Sounds good to me.” Griffin stands up and sets his hat and book in the chair, then shucks off his shirt and hangs it over the back, reaching out his hand to Pat. “Swim?” 

Pat happily gets to his feet and takes Griffin’s hand, heading down the beach and into the water. Griffin is immediately skeptical when he puts his feet in and Pat has to convince him he’ll adjust quickly, coaxing him a little further out. Griffin is gritting his teeth, shuffling deeper in baby steps. “I dunno, that sounds kind of like bull _shit_!” His voice spikes as a cold wave hits him right in the groin and Pat does a very good job not to laugh, finally getting him out deep enough that they can crouch and float comfortable, huddled together. Griffin rests his head on Pat’s shoulder and they both look out towards the open ocean, standing up as waves come and buoying at their peaks, then sinking back down on their knees in the sand as they pass. 

There aren’t many people around them in the water and it feels rather tranquil, gazing out across the rippling surface. Griffin’s warm hands rub up and down Pat’s back. Pat tugs Griffin into his lap and Griffin sits up to kiss him, slow and almost innocent, cupping the back of Pat’s neck with one hand, the other loosely gripping his bicep. Pat hugs him tight and has an odd thought occur to him, something of a wish, perhaps. He thinks for a moment of how one day, on some romantic getaway, maybe a honeymoon, or perhaps even at this same beach, they’ll be older and still together, he’ll taste salt in Griffin’s kiss again, and they’ll be in the ocean and in love. It’s such a nice thought, feeling almost like an omen, and he tilts his head to kiss Griffin a little deeper. 

Griffin prods his tongue into Pat’s mouth and just as Pat is reciprocating, a wave crests right on top of them, pushing them over and under, leaving them with a mouthful of brine. They come up retching and coughing, but Griffin laughs, swimming back to Pat and cuddling in the waves for a while longer. 

When they return to the beach, The four of them share snacks and huddle on the blanket to take some photos together. They sit in the sun for a while and talk, and Griffin passes around sunscreen for everyone to reapply. Ashley teases him that he’s maybe being a little overcautious, and he isn’t entirely successful in keeping in the edge out of his voice when he replies that he would nag if any of them weren’t wearing seatbelts, either. When Pat and Ashley are back down at the water together, she asks about it, sensing there was something to it she isn’t aware of. Pat considers brushing it off, but he decides he’d rather tell her than have Ashely eventually ask Griffin, knowing that it’s a subject that can make him slam shut if he isn’t ready to talk about it. 

He thinks about it for a moment, explaining it as directly and briefly as he can. “His mom passed away from skin cancer when he was in high school.” 

Ashley looks mortified, muttering “oh shit…”, but it’s clear she understands now Griffin wasn’t just being fussy. She quickly changes the subject and they make tactical plans to sneak up on Simone and throw her into the waves. With one of them holding her ankles, the other, her wrists, it’s easy to swing her, squirming and hollering, and toss her into the water. 

The three of them wear themselves out palling around and wind up napping when they get back to the beach. Griffin is halfway through his book when they wake up and all of them are getting hungry. They pack up, shaking sand out of the towels, and load the Jeep. Once back at the apartments, Griffin pops the frozen lasagna into the oven and they split up to shower. It takes a little over an hour for dinner to be ready, and when the girls knock on Pat and Griffin’s door carrying wine and some premade garlic bread, it’s obvious they’d done more than shower. 

Pat takes the wine and bread and carries them into the kitchen, teasing them gently about their apparent afterglow. They keep their arms around each other, all rosy cheeks and dilated eyes, and Simone squeezes Ashley’s hip. “Hey, we have a very healthy sex life! I’m not ashamed of that.” 

Griffin gives them a once over as he opens the wine. “...did y’all _just_ finish?” Now that Pat has pointed it out, they look as if they’d just rolled out of bed. 

Simone scoffs, feigning outrage. “I am a full grown woman, I can have my dessert first if I want!” 

Ashley actually looks a little embarrassed, hiding her face in Simone’s shoulder, but she’s smiling. Griffin snickers at them and hands them each a glass of wine, offering them a seat on the couch while he and Pat finish up dinner, bringing the girls plates once everything is done. They don’t have a proper dining area, but Simone and Ashley don’t mind eating on the couch, Pat pulling up his office chair to sit in rather than stuff all four of them on the sofa. Talk is sparse at first, they’re all famished, but once they’ve all gone back for seconds and the wine is flowing, Simone brings up the recent trailer for the new Star Wars film and the apartment is quickly filled with loud and excited chatter. 

Their conversations pair off as they work around each other in the tiny kitchen to put away leftovers and wash dishes, and once the kitchen is clean, Pat and Ashley split to his desk so he can show her some of the game projects from the past semester. Ashley has made a few text-based games and is eager to see his work. Simone and Griffin sip wine on the couch and Simone asks him how his job is going. 

“Better. It’s still retail, so… it sucks, but it’s not terrible. I’ve got a phone interview with a news station next week that I’m really nervous about. The longer it’s taking me to find something, the more my head just… I dunno, I’m really psyching myself out that I don’t have enough experience and that even if I do get the job, I won’t know what I’m doing.” 

Simone affectionately pinches his cheek, pouting at him. “You’ll do fine! I felt that way when I started writing for the magazine. And I _didn’t_ really know what I was doing at first, but I caught on, and honestly, no one expected me to immediately have it all together. It took some time and I learned and adapted to how my workflow needed to be. It’s scary! But if it’s what you really wanna do, it’s worth it.” 

Griffin purses his lips, nodding. He and Simone have a similar sense of humor and tend to present that most, but she’s very earnest under it, too. Having good friends like her and Ashley has made him feel less out of place here, finding the weird niches in LA that remind him of Austin, and a small lunch diner that has coleslaw and sweet tea _almost_ as good as back home. They’ve been his and Pat’s guides to finding the heart of the city under all its surface materialism and stereotypical California granola vibes, and it’s a nice feeling to have all four of them click with each other so well. He thanks her for the advice, and for just listening. He’s been really worried about finding a job he likes and Simone has been a kind ear to all his anxious overflow. 

“It’s cool! I get nervous about stuff, too, but don’t sell yourself short, yeah? Sometimes, I’m so amazed that I’m doing what I’m doing, like… I’m writing for a real publication. I do that for money, people _pay_ me to write about video games and movies and _want_ me to talk about how gay they are! I make a living doing that now, at twenty-five, and two years ago, I was a fucking _secretary_ writing fanfiction on the weekends.” 

Griffin nods along, glad for her and hoping he might find himself in a similar position soon, but his interest piques at the last bit. “Fanfiction?” 

Simone laughs and wags a finger. “Nah uh, you can’t shame me for things I’m not ashamed of!” 

Griffin shakes his head, grinning. “No, no! I didn’t mean it like--where do you post? What fandoms do you usually write?” 

Simone lifts an interested eyebrow, humoring him. “I mostly use fic-archive.org. I don’t think there’s really any other fic aggregate sites anymore? I guess some people post on Tumblr, but that seems more disorganized to me. I’m kind of all over the place, fandom wise, and I am _not_ afraid to ship _anything_. I’ll ship stuff just for the hell of it. It’s literally all for fun, like… crackships are good for your soul. But I write serious plots, too. My main focus is usually Star Trek. Sometimes Doctor Who, tiny bit of Star Wars and Game of Thrones.” 

Griffin’s eyes narrow, curiouser by the minute. “What’s your username?” 

Simone looks hesitant to answer, but finally admits, “Ah… Fortress Fire.” 

Griffin nearly sloshes wine into his lap. “ _ **Wwwhat???**_ ” Simone blinks at him until he helps her realize how small the world is. “I’m Stellar Voyage!” 

The ensuing shrieks pull Pat and Ashley over to the couch. Ashley surveys Simone and Griffin holding onto each other and making wordles squawks of excitement. “Uh… everything okay?” 

Two pairs of blue eyes, wild with glee, train on her as they blurt out in unison, “We know each other!!!” 

It takes some interpretation through them talking over one another, but Pat and Ashley finally determine that Simone and Griffin have been reading each other’s fanfiction and talking through comments for at least three years. Pat actually recognizes Simone’s username, Griffin had gifted her a fic a while ago. They’d known nothing about each other beyond their author facades, Griffin had thought Simone was a man--Simone admits this is partially by design--and while they had never exchanged any notable personal information, they had certainly been friends, reading all of each other’s work and always leaving feedback, often turning into long comment chains of jokes and sharing ideas. 

“You know what this means now,” Simone says with a devilish grin. “We have to write that _pon farr_ * fic we talked about.” 

Griffin groans. “Shit, yeah, you’re right.” 

Simone pumps her fist into the air triumphantly. “Qapla’!**” 

They feed off each other’s enthusiasm, already scheming up characters and setting, and Pat and Ashley leave them to it to plan out a plot, returning to Pat’s desktop rig. He nervously watches her play the short side-scroller he’d made for class, biting his tongue and hoping she likes it. When she does, he shyly tells her a little about the game he’s been planning, a story idea in the back of his head he’s been slowly working on and translating into a playable narrative, and he’s relieved and happy to see her genuine interest. He hasn’t even shared a lot of the game idea with Griffin, playing it very close to the chest, wanting it to be something he can show Griffin once it’s more realized. 

She gives him some feedback and ideas, but mostly encouragement, and he is showing her some concept art when Simone comes over and kisses the top of Ashley’s head, asking if she’s about ready to go. It’s getting late and Simone has work in the morning. Pat checks the time, astonished at how long they’ve been talking. He opens at the bookstore tomorrow and needs to get to bed soon, too. 

They all hug and wish each other good night before Simone and Ashley go back down the hall to their own apartment. Pat yawns and sets the timer on the coffee maker while Griffin rinses out the wine glasses and puts them in the dishwasher, letting it run. They straighten up the living room a little and then turn out the lights, going through their nightly routine before curling up in bed. 

Griffin sighs up at the ceiling, rubbing circles with the tips of his fingers into the palm of Pat’s hand. “That’s so wild Simone is Fortress… what are the fucking odds?” 

Pat smiles sleepily, purring at the light touches. “Pretty slim. Must be fate?” 

Griffin chuckles. He doesn’t really put much stock in that sort of thing, but, looking over at the murky, familiar shadow of Pat in the darkness, he has to admit fate certainly likes to get his attention. “Yeah,” he hums, spreading his palm out on top of Pat’s and threading their fingers together, “must be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> star trek references: 
> 
> * _pon farr_ is the seven-year vulcan mating cycle; the origins of the fuck-or-die trope
> 
> **klingon for "success!"


	22. Chapter 22

It’s a rare rainy day, cool and breezy and starting to feel like an early hail of autumn. Griffin drives Pat to class on his way to work so Pat doesn’t have to bike in the rain. When Pat gets home, having bummed a ride back from a friend, he opens the window by his desk to listen to the soft patter and hiss of tires on wet asphalt, the air smelling of ozone. A bigger storm is rolling south off the hills and he can hear thunder now and then under the din of usual urban noises. Cecil has climbed up onto the middle tier of his cat tree, fit into the corner where Pat and Griffin’s desks meet, a perfect vantage point to watch a little cat TV from the window, or watch Pat study. 

Pat is just finishing up a good long cry when Griffin comes home, and he’s glad he’s hidden from the door, having enough time to pull himself together before Griffin makes it over to him. He puts on a smile and looks over Griffin in a suit, not his usual work uniform, remembering Griffin had had an interview after work. He’s had several interviews over the last couple of months, but nothing has come of them so far. Pat shifts to tuck one leg under himself, reaching to smooth the lapels of Griffin’s blazer. “You look awfully handsome, bud.” He stretches up as Griffin gives him a little hello kiss. “How did it go?” 

Griffin leans against Pat’s desk, shrugging. “Well, they won’t have the funding to hire anyone for another six weeks or so.” Pat frowns, ready to start reassuring Griffin he’ll find something soon, but Griffin continues. “But once they’ve got the budget approved, the job is mine.” 

Pat gives a loud scoff. “You stinker, you tried to trick me!” He rises half out of the chair to hug Griffin around the neck. “Babe, I’m so proud of you!” He sits back and listens to Griffin tell him about the interview and the job, a sort of gopher position at the moment, doing lots of little things that need to be done that don’t quite warrant their own position, but it pays decently, and it’s full time, at the local NPR station. 

Griffin goes on several tangents and elaborates on details that are inconsequential, but Pat likes hearing him talk and seeing him excited. He’s been bummed out and grouchy lately with all the job rejections and it’s nice to see some life back in his face. “I don’t know if I should be put off by this, or feel like, I dunno… like I got this job on favoritism, but, the station manager knows my dad. We were like, almost fucking done with this long-ass interview and tour around the studio! And he finally drops, “you know, I’ve learned I can always trust a McElroy” just casually. He was a DJ with my dad before I was even born! Gah, Dad knows everybody…” 

Pat has his cheek rested on his fist, smiling. “Thanks, Clint.” 

Griffin laughs. “For real!” He takes off his jacket and starts to loosen his tie, but Pat swats his hands away, tugging him closer with the tie for a kiss before undoing it for him. 

“Do you wanna go for a walk in a bit? I was watching the radar; after this storm cell passes, it’s supposed to clear up.” Pat looks up at Griffin and realizes Griffin is scrutinizing him. Maybe his eyes are still red-rimmed, maybe he’d missed a streak of tears down his cheek. 

Griffin ignores the question and rubs Pat’s shoulder. “Are you okay, buddy?” 

Pat puts his head down and tries to blow it off, but just having Griffin notice and worry about him makes him feel emotional all over again. “Yeah, I just… I sat down and was looking over the assignments for this semester and it’s really work-heavy and I just… had a good stress-cry.” 

Griffin squints as if he might be able to detect something more there. “Are you sure?” 

Pat shrugs. That’s not really it, but he can’t quite place why he’s felt fragile lately. It comes and goes, he’s had to accept that sometimes anything will make him fall to pieces for a bit. “Yeah, it’s just overwhelming when I see it all laid out. If it were just one or two classes, it’s fine, but, they’re all heavily assignment-driven and I kind of panicked.” 

“I get that. But you kept your grades up last semester even with all the crazy shit with your mom. I know you’ll be okay. And maybe, with the way this new job pays, and when that money comes through, you can cut back your work hours so you can focus more on school?” Griffin would gladly be the one paying the bills if it meant Pat could focus entirely on his education, but they’ve learned that that’s a pipe dream in LA. It’s hard for most people their age anymore, but the city is so much more expensive than they had anticipated. Pat is still working both jobs, plus starting back classes, and they do need the extra money at the moment, but it’s also because Pat is too nice. The manager had asked him to please stay until they could replace him, and he’d agreed, despite how grueling it is on him to balance both jobs and school. He has no idea how he’d managed three jobs and classes before, but that first six months in Austin had been a blur of survival instinct in that regard. Quitting one job hadn’t meant having a tight budget for groceries, it meant not affording the motel room he was living in. Pat had weathered it well, but looking back, he can hardly imagine living like that again. 

Griffin can see Pat needs a good cuddle and pulls him against his chest, rocking him gently and kissing the top of his head, rubbing warm, slow circles on his back. The rain picks up a little outside and the sound mixed with Griffin’s touch, his face buried in Griffin’s chest and smelling his clean pressed shirt and light cologne, Pat feels much more relaxed and calm, ready to finally tackle some homework without having a meltdown. 

They separate and Griffin leaves Pat to his assignments while he changes into more comfortable clothes and heats up some leftover soup for a late lunch. He lounges on the sofa and reads, texting now and again with his dad about the job and his old friend who will soon be Griffin’s boss, and the sound of the passing storm and the light staccato of Pat typing makes for a soothing afternoon. 

When Pat finally finishes up with a dramatic, loud stretch, the sky outside has cleared, opening up to a view of a vibrant sunset. Griffin finishes the chapter he’s on and tosses the book onto the coffee table. “You still wanna to go for a walk?” 

Pat nods and goes to grab a pair of shoes and Cecil’s harness. It’s become routine that any day they are both home together, they try to take a walk around the neighborhood. Without a balcony for Cecil to go out and get some fresh air on, they had decided to try walking him, and after some initial skepticism about the harness, Cecil has taken quite a liking to it. He’s figured out the walks mean new smells and sounds, and sometimes they will go to a park and sit for a while if Cecil seems in the mood to do more than circle the block, and he’ll lay in the grass to watch birds and squirrels and people. Now and again, someone will ask to pet him, and sometimes he is even gracious enough to let them. 

They’ve also familiarized themselves with all the best PokeStop-heavy routes and found the best cafes to sit at and place lures where they can refresh several stops at a time. Pat is less invested in this, but it’s cute as hell to watch Griffin get so excited over beating a gym or finding a rare Pokemon. Pat had joined the same team as Griffin just to help him with gyms, it hadn’t really made any difference to him, but it’s well worth it to play along just to bask in Griffin’s enthusiasm. A couple of tactless classmates had commented recently that bespectacled slacks-and-polo-shirt wearing Griffin came off as… plain and dorky, like they thought he and Pat didn’t seem like much of a match. Pat had initially felt offended by that--and a little confused, considering himself to be sort of a dork, too--but he knows it’s partially true, and he loves Griffin’s dorkiness to bits. 

Cecil knows the sound of the harness by now and gets excited if he’s in the mood for a walk--if not, they don’t force him to go--and he’s off the cat tree and over to Pat in an instant, letting Pat clip it on and trotting along beside him as they descend the stairs to street level. The smells around the apartment are familiar and muted from the rain and he doesn’t stop to sniff much for a few blocks. Walking a cat isn’t like walking a dog, the point is enrichment and stimulation rather than exercise or going potty, and Pat stops for Cecil every time he gets intrigued, letting him sniff and investigate. 

There is a small tree outside a cafe they sometimes stop for coffee at, and Pat waits outside while Griffin goes in, Cecil rubbing his scent all over the tree, scrubbing his whole body across it one way, then back, tail lifted up confidently, snaking around in the air. Pat takes a short video of him, snickering every time Cecil steps in a small puddle and flaps his little black paws rapidly, offended that the ground would dare to be wet. Griffin returns with coffee and they head back towards the apartment, trying to gauge if Cecil wants to take a longer route, but he seems quite done with the wet sidewalk. Pat runs upstairs and puts Cecil back inside, and he and Griffin continue on to a large park by a Buddhist temple, walking hand in hand, just strolling and talking. 

They find a bench that’s only a little damp and Pat sits with his head on Griffin’s shoulder, using a lure on the nearby PokeStop so they can catch a few things while they finish off their coffee and talk more about Griffin’s new job and mundane stuff like what they want to make for dinner next week so they can start drafting a grocery list. In some ways, money being tight helps them be a little more organized, having to budget for food in a way that makes it all but necessary to have a meal plan for the week. They like cooking together, though, and finding new recipes to try, so the process is oddly fun. There are lots of Asian markets around with vegetables and other ingredients they couldn’t usually find in supermarkets in Austin, and Griffin has been obsessed with making the perfect dumpling recipe. Pat thinks he’s pretty damn close, but Griffin is a perfectionist at heart and likes familiarizing himself with less common flavors. For all the food-centric nature of his upbringing, it had still been a fairly narrow, European culinary palette, and living not only in such a large, diverse city, but a neighborhood that’s predominantly Asian, has pushed him to trying new things out of his usual element. 

The streetlights have come on by the time their lure runs out, and they decide to head back before it gets too dark. Sometimes they do take night walks, usually when they can’t sleep and need to burn off some excess energy, but Pat’s stomach is growling audibly and Griffin has promised to make some cornbread muffins to go with the last of the soup once they get home. 

It winds up being Pat who does the actual making of the cornbread, Griffin talking him through it to teach him the recipe. Pat playfully complains and Griffin laughs at him. “What’s the difference? You get the satisfaction of making it yourself and it’s the same recipe as when I do it.” 

Pat pouts while he stirs the thick batter. “Yeah, but my favorite ingredient when you make it is love.” 

A sharp blast of laughter leaves Griffin and he pokes Pat in the side. “You fucking _nerd_!” He kisses Pat’s shoulder all the same as he passes him to the fridge to get the soup out. 

The muffins turn out perfect and Pat is rather proud of himself--baking is a science that often eludes him, even when following recipes to the letter--and they have dinner on the couch while watching TV, cuddling after with Griffin stretched out on top of Pat, Pat’s long, skinny legs wrapped around him. With work and school, it isn’t something they get to do every day, maybe three or four times a week, and nights at home with Griffin are Pat’s favorite _because_ they are largely unremarkable. 

A common misconception Pat’s heard again and again from even the most naive and unintentional of homophobes is that queer relationships are based on sex, that they can’t possibly be as emotionally deep or complex or meaningful. Queerness in itself gets aligned with sexuality as a verb and not an experience, boiled down to smut and subculture and not seen for all its communal shared psyche or perspectives or radical, loud voices that have everything and nothing to do with sex. When he was figuring out his sexuality, this misconception of queerness-as-a-verb, as only existing within explicit actions, had made him doubt his truth, wonder if maybe he was really straight and just didn’t have much of a sex drive yet, but he had had crushes on other boys since elementary school. Pat had been just as gay as a virgin as he was after. 

It’s funny to him now to hear the old queer-is-sex-not-love bullshit get rolled out, because as much fun as they have, and as comfortable and safe as he feels being intimate with Griffin, _lover_ is one of the last things that comes to mind when he thinks of who and what Griffin is to him. It gets pushed down the list by things like _best friend_ , _partner_ , _emotional support buddy_ , _safe place_ , _world’s best kisser_ , _favorite hug_ , _adult supervision_... sometimes Griffin is too stressed out or tired to cook or clean, and Pat will do it for him, or Pat is exhausted and weepy and Griffin will make a fool of himself until Pat laughs and doesn’t feel so crummy for a while. They look out for each other, take care of each other, _love_ each other. Pat doesn’t really care if anyone doesn’t get it or doubts it. He’d felt like shit before Griffin got home, but then the cutest boy he’s ever seen was there to cheer him up with just his presence, motivate him to do homework, get him out of the house, help him make dinner… 

They make each other better people just by loving one another, just by wanting to be better for each other. It’s fucking _hilarious_ to think some hateful old raisins out there would really think they do all this just for sex, that it’s just an exchange of benefits for a single carnal goal. What a load of garbage, what a sad life they must lead to think intimacy can be so isolated and stripped down, or that love is something so easily defined, exclusive only to their own understanding of it. He knows it’s a little different for Griffin, but to Pat, sex is more of a bonus than a pillar of their relationship. There’s so much more Griffin can give him and make him feel that’s more satisfying than what they do in bed (or on the couch or in the shower or bent over a desk…). He’s not sure he can confidently say he’d be just as happy without sex, but why even consider it? They’re loving, consensual adults and have as much right to fuck each other cross-eyed as they do to share chores and make the bed together or devote their emotional support to one another’s well-being. 

Besides, he thinks as Griffin’s hands start to wander under his shirt, rubbing at his hips in a transparent but subtle come-on, he has to admit, the sex is pretty nice, too.


	23. Chapter 23

He’s only a couple of months in and working at the station already feels familiar, the nostalgia of coloring quietly under the desk as a kid while his dad DJ’d notwithstanding. For all his worry about being proved a green horn, Griffin has taken to the job easily, and enjoys it. He comes home from work as the sun is beginning to set, taking the stairs up to the apartment. He’s huffing by the third flight, but he’s been making himself take them more often and convinces himself it’s worth it. He passes Simone as he’s coming onto their floor’s landing and they exchange quick and awkward hellos as she heads out to meet Ashley for dinner. It’s still weird between them. 

Two weeks prior, they had spent an evening at Simone’s apartment, each on either side of the sofa with laptops across their knees, sipping beers and emailing back and forth to write the _pon farr_ fic they had discussed. They had used recurring original characters from their own respective fics: Simone’s character T’Pellar, a cis Vulcan woman and engineering ensign and Griffin’s character, Ranthi, a Betazoid trans woman and exobotanist. They had agreed to set it on a galaxy class starship assigned to a three-year mission, recommissioned mid-voyage for another few months to assist a colony toward the edge of the quadrant, and then damaged by Romulan warbirds. The ship was left adrift for weeks without comm systems, and then even longer for Starfleet rescue out on the barren edge of the alpha quadrant, giving some plausibility to T’Pellar going through _pon farr_ while assigned to a ship, rather than returned to her homeworld, as was customary. 

Readers from both of them went wild for it, loving the set-up and the pairing and the raunchy sex scene, already requesting more, but writing steamy hot sex with your friend in the same room had proved… awkward. Griffin had had to shuffle out of the apartment desperately hoping Simone hadn’t noticed his boner and he was absolutely sure Simone was squirming, her face flushed and bottom lip constantly getting sucked nervously into her mouth, bitten raw. The writing itself had been fun--cackling as T’Pellar confronts Ranthi and struggles to explain what is happening to her, shaking and barely restraining herself as she announces that she has chosen Ranthi as her mate, cheering in their little beer-buzzed crowd of two when Ranthi accepts the proposal, trying to outdo each other’s last block of story, their characters’ shared telepathic abilities heightening the intimacy and pleasure of their semi-public affair in the ship’s botanical garden--but once they were finished, they were left realizing that they were both horny as hell sitting hardly a foot apart and the resulting embarrassment was difficult to wade through. They had texted since and worked it out, even agreeing they wanted to write more with Ranthi and T’Pellar, but that it would be best to do so in separate apartments. Over digital, removed contact, their friendship feels untarnished, but in person they remain skittish. 

Griffin had felt so conflicted for the first few days. Did that count as cheating? Were they both bad bisexuals, falling into the greedy slut stereotype? If they were single, he’s sure they would have hooked up in that situation. Was that a danger sign? He’d finally unloaded all these worries on Pat, who had tried very hard not to laugh. He found the whole thing oddly cute and extremely funny, assuring Griffin he wasn’t remotely jealous, and that he trusted both him and Simone. Everything had felt cleared out and stabilized, but every time Simone and Griffin were in the same room together now, they couldn’t meet each other’s gaze and there was a palpable uncertainty between them. 

It’s been bugging the shit out of Griffin, and he’s sure it will eventually go away, but he stands at the top of the stairs and listens to the echoes of Simone jogging down each flight until she’s out the door, thinking he should say something to her, that they need to really clear the air for good, face to face, and get back to the easy friendship. Maybe next time, he’ll finally have the courage to actually do it. 

When Griffin comes into the apartment, Pat is curled up on the couch playing a videogame with Cecil sleeping in his lap. Pat puts down the control and carefully moves Cecil to a throw pillow, getting up to kiss Griffin hello and ask how his day was. 

Griffin shrugs. “Easy, quiet as always.” Saturdays at the station, Griffin is practically there by himself, babysitting pre-recorded broadcasts and managing the local affiliate’s social media accounts, taking calls and doing some housekeeping. He hangs his jacket by the door and asks Pat the same thing. For the last few months, Pat has volunteered every other Saturday at an animal shelter. It had started as an extra credit opportunity for class, but he needed something to do with Griffin at work half the weekend, and found that being surrounded by cats and dogs is quite a mood boost. He usually cleans cages and walks dogs, but sometimes he’s assigned just to pet and play with them, especially the puppies and kittens that come in in litters, needing to be socialized with people so they are suitable for adoption. 

Pat immediately starts in on a story about a cat he’s become attached to, stalling to keep Griffin from going into the bedroom to change clothes and Griffin knows something is up. “So… there was an old cat that got dropped off when I was there last time, his owner died and there’s no one else in the family that can take him, and he was still there today. He looked so scared and just hid at the back of the cage, and no one’s been able to foster him, so he’s been at the shelter the whole time and he looks so sad and miserable. The woman who dropped him off said his previous owner got him as a kitten and he’s lived with her, spoiled, for almost twelve years, and now he’s in a cage all by himself and he looks like a teddy bear that’s been through the wash too many times, and I feel awful for him.” 

Griffin tilts his head, loving Pat’s soft heart, but feeling like the cat is already somewhere in the apartment. He voices his suspicions and Pat bites his lip. 

“I’m really sorry I didn’t ask you about it, I just… I don’t know, I acted on intuition? He’s under our bed, hiding…” Griffin lets out a loud sigh and Pat winces. “I know! I know, I should have talked to you about it, I just… I’m really sorry. I thought it was best to ask forgiveness instead of permission. If I’d asked you and you said no, I really don’t think I would have listened. This poor cat… I don’t know, he really got to me. It’s not fair he’s been loved on his whole life and now he’s got nowhere to live. But it’s just a foster! If he doesn’t work out here, I can take him back, but Cecil hasn’t been mean to him or anything. Yet…” They had tried to get Ashley’s cat Crunchwrap to play with Cecil a while back and it had gone… not great. 

Griffin isn’t thrilled, but keeps an open mind, going into the bedroom and getting down on his hands and knees, shining his phone under the bed. Laying against the wall is a large grey tabby with short fur that looks like old shag carpet and a face that looks as if he’s seen some things. Griffin has never seen such a human, melancholy look on a cat before. He understands quickly how Pat had fallen victim to his sob story. 

Pat lays down on the floor next to Griffin, not sure if he’s mad or not. Griffin taps the floor and makes kissy noises at the cat, who only blinks slowly before closing his eyes, tucking his front paws under himself a little more snuggly. “What’s his name?” 

“Charlie. ...he’s cute, right?” 

Griffin sucks at his cheek. “I do wish I’d at least been given a heads-up or something.” 

Pat frowns. “I know…” 

“But he is pretty cute. And he’s old, he does deserve to stay in a home, not a cage.” 

Pat tries to temper his excitement. “Yeah?” 

“You want to keep him, don’t you, not just foster?” Griffin feels like he can practically read Pat’s thoughts, and knows he’s soft for animals. 

“Yes? But if he doesn’t get along with Cecil, or if he’s destructive or anything, we can find him somewhere else.” 

Griffin rolls and tugs off his sock. “Well, hopefully that won’t be necessary.” He uses the sock to try and lure Charlie to play, wiggling it around on the floor. Charlie tracks it with his eyes and flicks his tail, but doesn’t otherwise budge. “Okay, then. Have fun sulking.” He leaves Charlie alone to acclimate and calm down, changing out of his work clothes and into some comfortable sweat pants. 

Pat sits on the bed and watches him. “Uh, I have something else to talk to you about.” 

Griffin tugs on a worn-out sweater and tosses his dirty clothes in the hamper. “Is there a puppy in the closet?” 

Pat rubs the back of his neck. “No. Aunt Diane wants to come visit for Candlenights.” 

He seems like he doesn’t think Griffin will be okay with this, and Griffin isn’t quite sure how to interpret that. “Okay? That would be nice, especially since I can’t make it home. We don’t have a lot of space, but we’ve got the air mattress, I’m sure we can make it work.” 

Pat wrings his hands. “You don’t mind?” 

“No, baby!” Griffin steps over and drapes his arms around Pat’s shoulders. “She’s all the family you’ve got, and she’s looked out for you. I’d like to meet her.” He tilts his head, playing with Pat’s hair which has been short for a week or so now. He’s still getting used to it, but the new cut is very flattering. “You seem like… I don’t know, like you don’t want her to come? Or like I wouldn’t want her to come?” 

Pat screws up his mouth, thinking. “I don’t know, I just feel weird about it. I want to see her so bad, but I don’t want to make you feel like you have to host her or anything? I’m not sure. It feels selfish, I guess.” 

Griffin kisses his forehead, rubbing a thumb at his cheek. “Even if it were, you get to be selfish sometimes. It’ll be cramped here, but that’s kind of normal for holidays, right? She got you out of that house, she’s welcome here any time.” 

Pat is put at ease by this and they move to the kitchen to cook dinner together--nothing fancy, just pasta and salad--and eat on the couch watching their current binge series, a Scottish crime drama that is unexpectedly suspenseful and well-written. Pat takes the dishes to the sink in between episodes and hears a tiny gasp from Griffin as he’s closing the dishwasher. 

Charlie is peeking out from the hallway, surveying the room. Cecil is asleep in Griffin’s office chair and doesn’t so much as twitch an ear when Griffin pats the couch and sucks his teeth at Charlie. Pat walks very carefully to the back of the couch and watches patiently as Charlie thinks about it, then slowly crosses the room to the couch, stopping just out of reach from Griffin, then cruising around the back of the couch and winding between Pat’s legs on his way to the food dish by the fridge. 

Pat sits back down and watches him, checking to make sure Cecil is still asleep and not getting too curious. They both watch Charlie eat, relieved to see him getting more comfortable in his new surroundings, and Pat is so glad that Griffin seems to like the cat, cooing sweetly to him when Charlie comes back to the rug and lays under the coffee table, sharing space with them. They go back to their show and Charlie doesn’t retreat to underneath the bed for the rest of the night, his striped tail waving out from under the coffee table now and again like a little flag. Pat gets a bit nervous when Cecil comes over to sit in Griffin’s lap, but he still hasn’t shown any territorial jealousy toward Charlie, and Pat keeps his fingers crossed that that remains true. 

Over the next two weeks, they’re both nervous to leave the cats alone together, and they do eventually have it out in one big fight that Pat has to break up with a broom, but after that, they seem to forge a truce. Charlie may be old, but he’s a good five pounds bigger than Cecil. After their one epic spat, Griffin even finds them sharing the loveseat for a nap, and they begin eating next to each other without growling and guarding their food. When Pat returns the following Saturday to volunteer at the shelter, he officially adopts Charlie, filling out all the paperwork and paying the small fee. Once Griffin had fallen in love with the snuggly, loud-purring tabby, it was all over. He was theirs. 

Charlie doesn’t enjoy walks quite as much as Cecil, he has arthritis in his front paws and his hips, but he likes cuddles and catnip and sleeping on dirty laundry. He claws the furniture a bit, but only to scent mark it, not rip it to shreds, and he likes to watch Griffin cook so much that Griffin will sometimes lift him on top of the fridge to get a better view, talking to him as he chops and stirs and simmers. Having a playmate and cuddle-buddy has made Cecil much less wild and needy, and overall having Charlie in the apartment feels like the perfect balance. They both love coming home to a duet of happy meows and having a cat each to pet when they’re on the couch or reading in bed, and giving Charlie a new forever home to live out his golden years feels like a good deed. Griffin had been peeved Pat had taken the cat in without consulting him at all, but now he’s glad for it. He probably would have talked Pat out of it if he’d been asked, it’s maybe not the best decision to have another cat in a small apartment, but it works for them, and he feels like Charlie belongs with them. 

They are on a walk with the cats, just a slow loop around the block, when Aunt Diane texts Pat to confirm her flight itinerary. His stomach is in knots to realize in another month or so, he’ll get to see her for the first time in almost three years. Griffin can tell he’s anxious, trying to gently suss out why, squeezing Pat’s hand and stopping to let Charlie and Cecil sniff a trashcan. “She’s going to be so proud of you, you know? You’ve come so far and done so much for yourself.” 

Pat rolls his eyes. “I owe most of that to you, honestly.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short! You were seventeen, working three jobs and going to school, living in a fucking motel when I met you. You were here for a year basically by yourself. You’re going to your dream school. Your psycho mom is finally out of the picture.” 

“I’ve got a pretty cute boyfriend,” Pat tags on, smirking. 

Griffin snorts. “See? She’ll be over the fuckin’ moon to see where you are now, who you’ve grown into. Are you worried she’ll be disappointed?” 

Pat shrugs, rubbing his thumb across the back of Griffin’s hand. “Sort of? I don’t have a reason, though, just… generally nervous, I guess. But excited.” He smiles a little and Griffin leans up to kiss his cheek. Pat tucks his shoulder up to his ear shyly and Griffin loves that he can still do that to him, make him bashful and flustered. The cats are bored with the trash smells and they start back around the block towards the apartment. Pat swings his and Griffin’s joined hands. “I really hope you like her. She’s kind of wild, like… she’s a lot. But she’s fun. I hope you get along.” 

Griffin drops Pat’s hand and puts an arm around his waist instead, tugging him close. “Babe, I’m sure I’ll love her. I hope she likes _me_. Were you nervous meeting my family? I feel like I’ve got something to prove.” 

“A little, but not really. I think she’s gonna like you a lot. Honestly, though, even if she didn’t, I don’t think she’d have the heart to tell me.” He laughs at himself, squeezing Griffin around the waist. “When we finally started talking again and I first told her about you, I _gushed_. She knows I’m crazy about you, I doubt she’d burst my bubble if you don’t mesh well.” 

A little flutter of pride swells in Griffin’s chest, but of course he’s the same with Pat. “For the record, my family really likes you. Travis especially is too honest, and Dad can’t lie to save his life. Not that they got to know you all that well, but Dad always points out to me how happy you make me when I talk to him about you. I think that’s enough for them.” 

Pat plants a sloppy kiss on Griffin’s cheek, grinning. “I always wanna make you happy, bud.” 

Griffin chuckles, holding the door as they reach the apartment, letting Pat in first with both the cats on their leashes. “You keep talking like that, babe, and you’re gonna find me on one knee soon enough.” 

Pat hits their floor on the elevator and gives Griffin an unreadable look. “If that was meant to be a threat, it isn’t a very effective one.” 

Griffin’s heart skips a beat and he looks at Pat with the realization that visits him now and again that he’s looking at his future. He rocks onto his toes, cupping a hand at the back of Pat’s neck, kissing him deeply, not pulling away for a moment when the elevator doors first open. The doors almost shut again when he does finally break the kiss and Pat has a look in his eyes like he’s had the same thought, that they are each other’s endgame, that they’ll be with each other for the rest of their lives. The idea of such a long term commitment used to seem daunting to Griffin. Now, it’s a comfort. 

They step off the elevator and into the apartment, letting the cats out of their harnesses and hanging the leashes by the door. Pat doesn’t think the one kiss had been enough and hooks an arm around Griffin’s waist as he’s getting a bottle of water from the fridge, tugging him towards himself and then pushing him against the counter, cupping his face tenderly as he leans down to kiss him again. Griffin melts, gripping onto Pat’s back and breaking the kiss just long enough to hop up onto the counter so that Pat doesn’t have to hunch over, yanking Pat to him and sealing their mouths together again. 

Pat smears kisses across Griffin’s cheek to his ear before pulling back to look at him, a serious set to his jaw Griffin doesn’t see often. “You know you’re the most important thing in the world to me, right?” 

Griffin feels like every molecule in his body just got a warm hug. He bites his lip and loops his arms around Pat’s neck. “You know the feeling’s mutual, right?” 

Pat’s face lights up and Griffin could look at that smile forever, but he’ll settle for kissing Pat again. They make out in the kitchen until Griffin hits the back of his head on the cabinet and they move to the couch, where the kisses melt into cuddles and petting, silently admiring each other. The out-of-place feeling Griffin had had over the summer is gone now. He still gets homesick, but LA no longer feels like an inside joke he isn’t a part of, and this time around, living with Pat is even more comfortable than before. He and Simone have finally stopped being weird around each other (and posted another two chapters with their new favorite space-lesbians power couple), he likes his job, he lives near the ocean, and he gets to come home to the kindest, loveliest, most gold-hearted man he’s ever met. It took a little shaking to settle in--literally in a few cases of some small earthquakes over the months--but he feels now that where he is in his life at the moment is a place carved out just for him, exactly where he’s meant to be. 

He looks down at Pat and sees an ocean of love in his gaze, an unexpected lump rising in his throat, but it’s a good wave of emotion and he’s able to let it sink down again easily, a warm ripple down through his chest and fading towards the tips of his fingers. He pushes a hand back through Pat’s short hair, kissing the tip of his nose. “What are you thinking about?” 

Pat shifts to rest his cheek in his hand, stretched out on top of Griffin on the couch, his free hand’s forefinger tracing little circles over Griffin’s chest. “How much I love the color of your eyes. You?” 

Griffin lays a hand over Pat’s, pressing it to his heart. “How thankful I am to have met you. I’m sure life wouldn’t suck if I hadn’t, but I am still so, so glad I have you in it.” 

Pat tears up, but smiles, mirroring Griffin from earlier. “Keep talking like that and you’ll have me on one knee.” 

Griffin lets out a laugh, gently smacking Pat’s ass. “Now you _know_ that’s not a threat for me.” He pulls Pat down into a kiss, sucking at the tip of Pat’s tongue, barely pulling away to ask him, “What about both knees?” 

It takes Pat half a second to catch his meaning, but once he does, he’s already moving off the couch, removing his glasses and setting them on the coffee table, not needing much prompting to blow Griffin. Ever since they had started living together again, he’s grown a fondness for it, sometimes getting an urge for it, almost a craving for the taste of Griffin. Even now, as he nuzzles Griffin’s stomach and opens his jeans, it’s as though a phantom of Griffin is on his tongue, eager to wrap his mouth around him. Of course, the best part is always the sounds Griffin makes, the pleasure on his face and knowing Pat can make him feel good. After all, he loves making Griffin happy.


	24. Chapter 24

Pat is practically vibrating, wringing Griffin’s hand between his own, bouncing on his toes and scanning the crowd as people stream past the airport atrium. He’s been ready to burst since the semester ended, able to stop thinking about school and focus on getting the apartment ready for Aunt Diane’s visit. The more he thinks about it, remembering how much fun and love and warmth she’d provided him in the months he’d gotten to live with her, the more he can’t wait to see her again. Griffin is nervous about having someone he doesn’t know living in the same space, but he trusts it will be fine, and it’s gotten Pat in such a good mood, he’ll take whatever inconveniences that might arise. 

Pat checks his phone for the dozenth time, but there’s still only the last text from Diane almost twenty minutes ago saying she had made it out of the plane and was heading toward baggage claim. He and Griffin have been here for nearly an hour, Diane’s plane had taken forever to taxi to a gate after landing, and Pat can’t take it anymore. The longer he waits, the more the anxiety builds, and he’s starting to wonder if she’s lost in the airport or if maybe they’re at the wrong baggage claim when he hears “Patty!” from his left. He turns to see her shuffling through the crowd, pulling her suitcase and waving a jacket in the air like a flag, and he’s sobbing before they even reach each other. 

She looks just like he remembers, white-blonde hair short and spiky and spotted with black and violet, her huge, wide smile with its missing tooth, gaudy makeup, too much jewelry, and when he finally gets to her and leans down to hug her, burying his face in her shoulder to muffle his elated sobs of relief, she smells like the same jasmine lotion she’s been using since he was a kid. Her bracelets rattle together as she pats and pets his back, navy blue mascara starting to run as she can’t keep back tears, either, holding onto him for several long minutes, unable to let go. Griffin patiently waits off to the side, happy to watch Diane fawn over Pat when she does finally stop hugging him and lets him stand up. 

She touches his hair and his face, commenting how much taller he’s gotten, how handsome he is, how much he looks like his father. She wipes his tears away and jokes that he’d better stop acting like he isn’t glad to see her, even as tracks of tears start to smear through her makeup. They hug and cry some more and Diane covers Pat’s face in kisses, leaving hot pink lipstick marks, before they’ve cleared the initial surge of emotion and Pat finally remembers Griffin is there, too. He turns and introduces them and Diane gets a devilish look, sing-songing, “oh, you’re a cute one,” and tugging Griffin into a hug. She’s a big woman and he has to really get his arms around her, but it’s a warm, cuddly hug, like they haven’t only just met. 

Griffin takes her suitcase and carryon bag--Diane comments loudly to Pat that he found himself a gentleman--and they worm through the crowd back to the parking garage, loading Diane’s things into the trunk. Pat offers her shotgun, but she insists on taking the backseat, sitting in the middle. Pat sits sideways in the passenger seat to look back at her, asking how Uncle Ron is doing. 

“Oh he’s good, honey. He’s driving down to his mama’s for the holidays. It’s probably gonna be Gramma Mae’s last.” Pat’s sad to learn she’s not doing well, but Diane reminds him that Mae is diabetic and nearly ninety-seven. “She’s made of stone and fire, but she’s still a mere mortal like the rest of us. It’s hard on Ronnie and the family, though… won't be the same without Mae.” 

Pat had gotten to take a weekend trip to Tennessee with them for one of Ron’s family reunions. He and Diane had been the only white people there. He spent the first several hours of the cook-out only speaking when spoken to, hyper-aware of whether he might say something offensive or ignorant, but Ron’s family was generous and warm and rowdy, too fun and open to warrant feeling stiff for very long. There were nearly sixty people in attendance, not including a handful of infants, but of all of them, Gramma Mae was unquestionably the matriarch. Twice divorced, a retired civil engineer, Mae had learned to fly planes as a hobby between husbands, marched with Dr. King in Memphis during the civil rights movement, started the first food bank in her all-black neighborhood, and won amateur awards for her watercolor paintings in the early eighties. Pat had sat at her table with a dozen or so others and listened to her talk for at least an hour while she shucked boiled peanuts and told stories, fascinated by her colorful, extraordinary life. 

Diane excuses herself while she calls Ron, speak of the devil, and lets him know that she has landed and is on the way to their apartment. Ron and Pat exchange hellos through Diane and she makes obnoxious kissing noises into the phone when they say goodbye. She puts her phone away and pats Griffin’s shoulder, gently scratching her short nails over it in an affectionate gesture. “Where you are from, Griffin?” 

Griffin flicks his eyes up at her in the rearview mirror. “West Virginia, ma’am.” 

Diane balks. “ _Ma’am?_ That’s sweet, honey, but you don’t need all that with me. Is West Virginia Southern? I’m not sure how that works… you don’t sound like you have an accent.” 

Pat smirks. “Oh, wait until he gets off the phone with his dad. It’s there.” 

Griffin looks surprised, muttering, “Do I really?” but answers Diane before Pat can tease him more about it. “It’s sort of Southern? More Appalachian, it’s a little different than like, the Carolinas’ kind of Southern.” 

Diane hums. “I married a Southern boy. Best decision of my life.” She gives Pat a rather conspicuous look that has him blushing, wagging her eyebrows, and Griffin pretends not to have caught on. 

Pat and Griffin carry Diane’s things up once they arrive at the apartment, and Diane excuses herself to the bathroom to freshen up from the flight. Griffin puts on an apron and pulls out pizza dough he’d made last night and begins to stretch it out while Pat gets a buffet of toppings set up on the counter. Aunt Diane returns and helps chop onions and mushrooms, trying not to come off too intimidating as she starts grilling Griffin, wanting to know more about him. Pat’s told her a lot, but she wants to hear it from Griffin, without the filter of someone that’s head over heels for him. 

Griffin always struggles talking about himself in general terms. He tells her the basics--youngest of three boys, grew up in a average town, raised Baptist, graduated with a degree in broadcast journalism, writes music as a hobby, works at a radio station--but Diane knows all this, tugging for more details. She asks about his relationship with his family. 

“Oh, we’re really close. We always have been, but, especially after my mom passed, we’ve gotten tighter. It’s sort of rough, being so far away, but we make it work. We text and call all the time.” 

Diane treads carefully, but hones in on that detail. “How old were you when your mom died?” 

Griffin spreads sauce onto the dough and tries very hard to seem like this is a subject he’s fine with. “Eighteen.” 

“Cancer?” 

“Uh huh.” 

Diane reaches to rub his back, taking over the pizza for him and starting to spread toppings with Pat. “I was twenty-two when my mother died. Liver cancer. And she held on for months, it was painful to watch her go through it, but something about it drew me to nursing. _Specifically_ hospice work. It’s hard to describe… being with her at the end of her life was the worst thing I’ve ever been through, and the most important.” She looks him over and it seems like her words resonate with him. “It doesn’t get easier, I hate to tell you. You just get better at dealing with it.” 

Griffin lets out a bitter laugh. He appreciates her honesty. He really hates platitudes about loss, especially when they come from people who have obviously never lost their most important and favorite person in the world. “Yeah, I figured that out a few years ago. I thought I was doing it wrong, because it still hurt so bad, and everybody else seemed like they were moving on.” 

Diane smiles sadly, patting his aproned chest. “It’s supposed to hurt. When you love somebody unconditionally, they leave a hole in you. Do you ever talk to her?” 

Griffin hesitates for a moment. “Sometimes.” 

“Were you with her at the end?” 

Pat can tell Griffin is getting very uncomfortable and is ready to step in and cut Diane off if she doesn’t drop it soon. Griffin nods very stiffly. 

Diane leans against the counter, regarding him with an unreadable expression. “Did you feel her go?” 

Griffin looks like he’s been punched in the gut, tears springing to his eyes. He nods again. He’s never told anyone that, the heartbreak of it was too raw, felt like a secret just for him, and he’s too shocked by Diane asking to lie. Pat moves to hug him, but Diane beats him to it, squeezing Griffin and cuddling him to her. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to make you sad. Just… shared experiences, huh?” 

Griffin nods and wipes at his eyes, embarrassed, but hugs Diane back. When he finally lets go, pulling himself back together, Diane drops the subject entirely and pretends not to see him still pursing his lips and teary-eyed. They stick the pizza in the oven and Pat pours them all some wine while Diane lightens the mood with a story about her oldest dog’s ill-fated adventures with opossums. There’s a weird energy between Diane and Griffin now and Pat doesn’t understand it, but it seems good, not tense. He wishes she hadn’t sprung such a sensitive topic on Griffin, but it seems like a bizarre bonding ritual has occurred. 

They stick to lighter stories through dinner, moving to the couch after so Diane can open her carry-on for a little show-and-tell. “I’ve got presents, you know me…” She sits between them on the couch and starts pulling things out. “First, I brought you some maple candies,” she hands the package to Griffin. “I don’t know if you’ve ever had any, it’s a New England thing.” Griffin thanks her and tries the corner of one sugary maple leaf. Pat reaches over and steals another leaf, letting it dissolve on his tongue. There isn’t much he misses about Maine, but the flavor is nostalgic. 

Diane pulls out a paper gift bag next and digs through it. “I’m not sure if this will mean much to you, but I just thought, I dunno… it’s still your blood. My mother, your grandma, was from the Faroe Islands.” Pat nods, he’s heard that before. “Me and Ronnie went for our twentieth wedding anniversary, back in January, before all the crap with your mom, and I just… I hoped one day I’d get to see you again, so I brought you some things back.” Pat rubs her arm, appreciating her giving heart and getting emotional along with her to think that even after years without a word between them, she still thought of him. Maybe Diane’s side is where he gets his sensitivity from. He thinks he’s okay with that. 

She hands him a pack of glossy postcards with scenery of the islands, beautiful green mountains and rocky cliffs jutting out of a dark, grey-blue ocean. The print is all in Faroese, with traditional patterns around the border. She then hands him a small resin-cast boat, hand-painted, with a little card in English describing the traditional boat style and its history, and finally, she places a heavy, smooth stone in his hand. “So you have a little piece of your heritage, y’know. I picked that out special just for you, on a beach near mama’s home village.” 

Even with no attachment to that side of his family beyond Diane, it’s important to Pat because it’s important to her. He palms the stone--heavy, smooth, and shiny black, a volcanic rock, he thinks--and tells her thank you, hugging her before getting up to set the boat in a blank spot on the bookshelf among Griffin’s action figures, and puts the postcards and stone on his desk. When he returns, Diane is pulling a freezer bag full of peppermint puppy chow out of her bag: rice cereal squares coated in white chocolate and powdered sugar mixed with macadamia nuts and crushed candy canes. She’d made him a big bag every Candlenights as a kid. “Oh snap! You’re hitting every decent part of my childhood right now, Aunt D.” 

Diane cackles, plopping the bag into his lap as he sits back down on the couch. “Gotta polish those rare gems, sugar.” Pat opens the bag and shoves a handful into his mouth, offering Griffin some. Diane puts her carryon down on the floor, now holding an envelope of photographs. “This is the last bit. Some of these are for you, some are just to show you, ‘cause I don’t have any copies of them.” She pulls out a small stack and shows Pat some old photos of the house where she and his father had grown up, her parents, a recent photo of the tiny house where her mother had been born, giving him a copy of this one, along with one of her dogs dressed up for Candlenights. She then shows him a photo of his dad at his age, making sure Griffin sees it, too. 

Griffin’s eyes go wide. “Holy shit, that’s uncanny.” Mike at twenty was a spitting image of Pat, or vice versa, rather. The late eighties style and teased bangs aside, he would have believed it was a photo of Pat if he didn’t know any better. Diane gives Pat the photo and he is mesmerized by it, finding it so strange that he could look so much like someone he’d never known, barely remembers. He’s seen photos of his dad as a kid, and around the time he’d already been born, but never as a young man, never at just the right age to really get the full effect of how strong the resemblance was. 

Diane puts an arm around Pat and tells him the story behind the photo; a party over the summer after Mike had started his first real job, which he was proud of and didn’t want to show up hungover to the next day, but the night got wild, anyway, and a group of them wandered into the woods to build a bonfire at an old campsite and dare each other to ride the rope swing. It was the same night Diane had knocked out her tooth. She’s laughing about it now, but Pat can tell there’s a sadness to it, as well. She and Mike had been close, driven together by the death of their parents, and losing him had weighed heavily on her. She loves Pat at face value, but he certainly represents the soothing of a loss for her, looking so much like her brother. “Mikey had grey eyes, though. You got your mama’s eyes, spirits help you.” 

“Hopefully that’s all I got from her,” Pat grumbles, and Diane kisses his head, rubbing his hair. 

“You’re nothing like her, honeybear. You’ve got a lot of your daddy, I promise.” She shows him a picture of she and Mike together during the same time period and Pat tries not to laugh at how different she looks. Long dirty blonde hair, high-waisted jeans, and thin. Diane notices his disbelief. “Oh I was a fox, honey!” Pat can’t imagine, but only because he knows her as she is now. Aunt Diane to him has always been big, and loud, with her spunky short hair and mixed-bag of a fashion sense. It’s hard to think the young woman in the photo is the same person. 

“You’re still pretty, Aunt Diane. Just… different.” 

Diane sticks her tongue out at him. “You don’t have to butter me up, Patty, Aunt Diane knows she still looks good.” She dramatically pats her hair and Griffin watches them, leaned back against the arm of the couch, soaking up Pat’s smile and laughter, very much enjoying the way they interact. For most of their relationship, Griffin has been Pat’s only support, and it’s a relief now to know someone else is in his life that loves him and can be there for him. 

Diane has one last photo, keeping it covered with the one before it. “I know you said you didn’t want anything from the house, but I hope this is okay…” Pat had put Diane in charge of selling the house once he was able to do so--he has no interest in ever going back to it--and offered that if she wanted anything from it, or wanted to sell anything, she was welcome to keep the money. Diane had gone a little overboard and held a huge yard sale, which paid for most of her trip here. Pat looks uncomfortable, hoping like hell it isn’t a picture of his mom. Instead, it’s a photo from one of Pat’s birthday parties, maybe four or five, sitting in Grampa Avery’s lap in his powered wheelchair. 

Pat is surprised how much he misses him. He doesn’t think about him often, but seeing the photo brings back a jumble of the few truly good memories he has from his childhood. “Can I keep this?” 

Diane hands it to him. “Of course, sugar. I still regret not figuring out something sooner… you were both completely dependent on her, I always wonder, if I had trusted my gut, if I could have helped you both. I wonder if he would have lived longer.” 

Pat frowns, grateful for the distraction from another bummer rut when Griffin reaches over and asks to see the photo. He hands it to him and Griffin coos at tiny Pat. “You were so cute! Aaah! What a little baby!” 

Diane laughs. “Oh my gosh, he was an angel. Those big brown eyes will get you every time.” 

Griffin looks at the photo a while longer--there’s something so strange and endearing about seeing Pat as a child, so long before they’d ever met--before handing it back and getting up to refill their wine glasses. When he returns, Aunt Diane has a proposition for them. 

“So what do we have planned, boys?” 

Pat shrugs. “Griffin has a thing with work on the 22nd, like a neighborhood tree lighting, but other than that, we were going to play it by ear.” 

Diane nods. “Oh, that sounds nice. So Candlenights Eve, nothing planned?” They both shake their heads. “Mmkay… well, and this maybe is too much, I don’t know, but I’m here, and I’d really, really like…” She pauses, looking excitedly between them. “To go to Disneyland?!” 

Pat and Griffin exchange a look, trying to gauge each other’s interest. Griffin thinks that sounds like something his mom would have wanted to do--all the usual Disney magic, with the added wonder of Candlenights--but.. 

“It’s really expensive,” Pat says flatly, trying not to sound disappointed. 

“Oh, honey, it would be on me! That would be my present to you two. And I do have a backup plan if we don’t wind up going.” 

Another look between Griffin and Pat. Diane silently notes with glee how well they communicate wordlessly, reading each other without even trying. Griffin finally nods. “Okay, yeah. That sounds like a lot of fun.” 

Aunt Diane claps happily, pulling out her phone to confirm the tickets, which she had already purchased, just in case. Griffin hikes a brow at Pat. “So that’s where you get it from.” 

Pat blushes, helping Diane navigate the website to ensure all the information is correct. Once confirmed, and now in the Disney mood, they turn out the living room lights and watch the new Beauty and the Beast together on the couch, sharing the bag of puppy chow and finishing off the bottle of wine. When it’s over, Griffin and Pat move the couch over to one wall and start to pump up the air mattress, getting blankets and pillows from the hall closet. Griffin has to work early in the morning and announces he’s off to sleep, knowing Pat will want to stay up and talk more with his aunt. Pat and Diane make up the air mattress, and when Pat hears Griffin finish getting ready for bed and go to lay down, he excuses himself quickly. “I just want to go say good night.” 

Griffin is already under the covers, glasses off and squinting at his phone to set the alarm. Pat sits on the bed next to him and tucks the blankets around him. Charlie moves from Pat’s pillow to curl against Griffin’s side. “I’m sorry she brought up your mom,” Pat offers softly. 

Griffin rubs his face, shrugging. “It’s okay. I mean it sucks, but this time of year makes me miss her a lot, anyway.” 

Pat wants to say he’d never known that, that Griffin had felt her leave. He’s curious about it--what exactly did that mean? what had it felt like?--but knows better than to pick at it now. Instead, he leans down and kisses Griffin good night, telling him he loves him. Griffin hugs Pat to him, drawing out the kiss, before he finally lets him go and gets comfy in bed. Pat slips out of the bedroom and closes the hall door, going to the air mattress and laying down next to Aunt Diane. 

Diane is pulling out some sleep clothes from her suitcase and chuckling at Cecil wanting to root through her bag. She turns back to smile at Pat when he returns, winking. “I like him.” 

Pat props himself up on an elbow. “Cecil?” he asks, feigning ignorance. 

Diane swats him with a t-shirt. “No, silly! Well, the kitty, too. Griffin! He looks at you like you hung the moon, honey.” 

Pat blushes, unsuccessfully fighting back a grin. “Yeah…” 

“Is he your first?” 

Pat’s blush darkens. “No, he’s not.” 

“I mean your first _love_ , I know he’s not your first. You think I really didn’t know about the boy at the burger shack?!” 

“Aunt Diane!” Pat hits her playfully with a pillow, embarrassed not only to be reminded of his first awkward sexual experiences, but to think that apparently she knew about them. 

Diane cackles and tickles him. “Really, though, is he your first love?” 

Pat pushes her hands away, squealing, left breathless and taking a moment before he answers her. “Is it bad if he is? I wonder that sometimes… everything I know about being in a relationship is from this one. But after everything I’ve been through, I think I deserve to have something nice the first try, right?” He seems unsure of himself, but Diane’s eyes go soft and she pinches his cheek gently. 

“Yes, you do, Patty. I hope he keeps making you happy.” She excuses herself to go wash off her makeup and they both put on a sheet mask after, like their old nights together in her trailer. Pat uncorks another bottle of wine for them and opens up about how much he and Griffin have been through together, and how all of it seems to make them stronger. They’re both close to drunk and cuddled on the air mattress when Pat talks about how much he’s afraid Griffin will finally become exhausted dealing with Pat’s depression and mood-swings and the leftover bullshit from all his childhood trauma, but Griffin just keeps holding him up and helping him through it and not shying away even when things get bad and Pat isn’t himself or very pleasant to be around. 

They had touched on this before over the phone, but it’s so much easier with her here in person. He tells her how he hopes he does a good job being there for Griffin, when he’s panicking or tired or homesick, that he makes Griffin feel as loved as Griffin does for him. Aunt Diane snuggles up with him and assures him that trying is half of it, to just keep being open and putting himself out there and doing what they can for each other, that she sees a lot of love between them that eases the worry she has for him. It’s nice to hear that someone else can see the thing between them. He’s thinking about going to curl up with Griffin in the next room, but Aunt Diane keeps talking and her voice is soothing and they fall asleep together in the living room. 

The next few days are spent in similar fun and revelry, remembering the good times they’ve had together, rekindling their old bond easily. Diane gets to know more of Griffin’s sense of humor, and Griffin quickly grows a fondness for Diane. For all her raucous, wild nature, she has good advice, and very good hugs. Pat often catches Griffin exaggeratedly mouthing Diane’s words when she’s speaking, repeating them to himself as she says them, charmed by her thick accent. 

When Pat is working one evening and Diane and Griffin are home alone together, they talk a little more about their shared losses, but also about their mothers in life. Part of him feels defeated to know that in another twenty years, he’ll still feel this grief just as much as he does now, but seeing the way Diane still treasures memories, the way they can bring joy even knowing there are no new memories to make, eases the heartsick feeling just a little. 

Pat comes home as they are exchanging recipes and it feels so nice to have them bonding. He wonders if Griffin feels this way about his brothers and dad taking to Pat, and wonders, too, if Griffin feels like he understands Pat a little more as he gets to know Diane, in the same way Pat had started to notice some of Griffin’s quirks only when he realized his family did the same things. 

On the 22nd, Diane and Pat take a car down to the park by the radio station to see the tree lighting. Griffin is on the clock, so Pat tries not to distract him too much, walking around and taking in how much his boyfriend had put together. The project had been turned over to Griffin quickly when it was clear he had the enthusiasm for it. He’d arranged vendors to donate free hot drinks, candy canes, and cookies, gotten sponsors for the tree, itself, there are games and a Star King posing for photos, and a few elementary and middle school choruses singing Candlenights songs. There are two tents taking donations, one for toys, one for canned goods, and a cash donation bucket that goes to the local animal shelter. It’s just cold enough after sundown to really feel like winter, and looking around at all the happy families, Pat is so proud of Griffin for putting together such a nice free event, a gesture in true Candlenights spirit. 

Right at seven as the church bells across the street toll on the hour, Griffin goes up with a microphone in front of the huge tree and Pat can tell he’s very nervous. He hopes Griffin can see him and gives him a thumbs-up and a big smile, glad Aunt Diane is taking pictures. Griffin introduces himself shyly and thanks everyone for coming, and the sponsors and vendors for making it all possible. He plays it up for the kids and tells everyone they need help to light the tree, that it takes some holiday magic to shine bright, and does a quick countdown ending in the whole crowd shouting _**Happy Candlenights!**_ The tree flickers on, a truly beautiful affair, and Griffin makes a beeline to Pat as music plays him off and families start to gather around the tree for photos. 

Pat throws his arms around Griffin and gives him a big kiss, seeing it plainly on his face that Griffin is happy with what he’s done here. He’s still got some residual shyness from being up in front of the crowd and Pat thinks it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen, cuddling him for warmth and obliging Aunt Diane when she makes them turn and pose for some pictures. Pat leans down once she’s finally done, telling Griffin through a smile, “You did such a good job, baby.” Griffin lights up, thanking him with another kiss. 

Pat and Diane stick around and sip hot cider while they wait for Griffin to wrap things up and ride home with him. Griffin has the next few days off and they spend the Eve’s Eve in pajamas relaxing at home, Diane knitting and playing with the cats while Pat and Griffin play videogames, cuddled together on the couch. When they turn in early, needing to leave very early the next day for Disneyland, Pat and Griffin lay next to each other in bed, not falling asleep, until Griffin finally rolls over and pokes Pat, and they discover they’re both on a childish glee high, too excited about tomorrow to sleep just yet. They giggle and fool around as quietly as possible, finally getting a few hours’ rest before they’re excitedly up again, loading into the car and heading to Anaheim. 

The crowd is outrageous and Griffin has to keep very close to Pat to feel safe, taking little breaks in quiet nooks to keep himself together, but it helps that the nature of the park, in general, feels like one foot in a different, more magical world. He feels silly getting excited about seeing actors dressed up as his favorite childhood cartoon characters, but Pat reacts the same way, Diane enabling their childish wonder and taking tons of photos. The lines for the rides are long, but there are fun little Candlenights events around the park to enjoy, as well: roaming carollers, tunnels blowing around fake snow, stations where you can cut out paper snowflakes or make a popcorn garland. Pat sees some character staff dressed as generic villagers carrying wicker cages with three hens, then later eight milk maids leading a real cow, and a small float with six animatronic geese laying golden eggs. They make a game of it to find all the characters from the song. Five golden rings turns out to be acrobats in golden cyr wheels, tumbling down Main Street. 

Around noon, Griffin has to find a quiet spot behind a funnel cake stand to take a video call from his family. Diane digitally meets his dad and his brothers and they tell him how much they miss him and wish he could be there. Clint gives them a rundown of their day so far--the usual ritual with songs in the cemetery, a late lunch together, a game of Clue that got very heated--and Travis introduces his new girlfriend, Teresa, who had come down with him from Ohio. Travis mentions seeing photos and a little video of the tree lighting on Facebook and tells Griffin, “mom would have loved it, Ditto”, and Griffin tries very hard to pretend like he doesn’t immediately start crying, thanking Travis in a choked voice. Pat leans his head on Griffin’s shoulder as Sydnee takes the phone, Justin behind her. 

“We also have some news we want to share while we’ve got everybody here.” Justin is smiling so wide it looks like it might actually hurt. Sydnee, however, experly feigns nonchalance, almost annoyance, to throw everyone off. “It’s not a big deal, and it’s gonna be a while until it actually happens, buuuuut--” 

Justin can’t take it anymore, blurting out, “We’re havin’ a baby!” 

An explosion of noise comes from the West Virginia side of the conversation as everyone is shouting and hugging and Griffin gets the biggest, dopiest grin on his face. Pat doesn’t expect to be so excited, himself, but he realizes this means that if all goes according to plan… 

“I’m gonna be an uncle,” Griffin says softly, still grinning. Things finally calm down and Clint takes the phone back, wiping tears from under his glasses. Pat and Griffin both congratulate the parents-to-be and the conversation starts to wrap up. Clint tells them he loves them both and to call again tomorrow when they’re up so they can open presents over video together. They sign off and Griffin sits for a minute with Pat hugging onto him, feeling floaty and warm. Diane, who had removed herself politely while Griffin had his family moment, comes back and rubs his shoulder. 

“You wanna find a shop and look for baby toys?” She winks at him and Griffin nods, heading back out into the flow of people, linked arm-in-arm with Pat. The homesickness is strong now, but it’s nice to know that even from afar, family holidays can still feel close over digital means. He finds some cute Stitch booties for the baby and they spend the rest of the day riding rides and eating too many sweets, staying to the very end to watch the final parade and fireworks show, Pat hugging onto Griffin from behind, both of them loudly singing all the songs together, drowned out by the crowd around them doing the same. 

Candlenights morning goes over nicely. Pat and Griffin wake up to Diane making them chocolate chip waffles and strong coffee, then video-call Griffin’s family after breakfast to sit around their tiny fake tree while the rest of the McElroys gather in Clint’s living room next to the fireplace and open the presents they had shipped to each other. They’re both wearing awful holiday sweaters they’d found in a thrift store to keep the McElroy tradition alive. Pat had washed his three times and it still smells like… gravy? Mold? There are a couple presents to both Pat and Griffin, but Clint had also given Pat a gift of his own. He hadn’t expected any of them to include him like this for a long-distance family holiday, but they’re generous people by nature. The fact that the gift is thoughtful--a coffee table book of video game inspired art--gets him right in the heartstrings, and the gag gift with it rounds it out nicely to how he’s come to know Clint. It’s just a cheap four-letter bike lock, but, “The code is set to _BUTT_.” Clint is laughing at his own joke and even though there are instruction on how to reset it, Pat thinks he’s going to keep it set to that code just for the giggle. 

Aunt Diane slides in to sit with them and opens her present from Pat while Griffin sits and listens to everyone talk about what’s going on in his hometown. For all the boredom he’d wanted to escape after high school, he misses Huntington now. Maybe not so much to want to move back one day, but he hopes he can visit soon before the ache gets too sore. 

The call eventually ends as Travis and Sydnee start cleaning up wrapping paper carnage and Pat goes to get the cats’ presents from the closet, laying out some new toys, a scratch pad, and some catnip-infused treats in the kitchen for them to play with. Cecil dives in immediately, but Charlie hangs back, watching from behind the couch with wide, interested eyes before he finally can’t take it anymore and runs at the scratch pad, pouncing on it and making it slide across the floor. Pat lets them have a wad of wrapping paper to play with, too, watching them go buckwild. Griffin comes and sits down on the kitchen floor with him, leaning against the dishwasher, tossing the wad of paper back at the cats when it gets batted in his direction until it becomes a game of keep-away between he and Pat with both the cats skittering back and forth trying to intercept. 

Diane takes a video, cackling. “Don’t torture the poor kitties, it’s Candlenights!” They eventually leave the cats to enjoy their catnip high and spend most of the afternoon watching classic holiday movies on TV, snuggled on the couch. 

It’s Aunt Diane’s last full day in LA and after a late lunch, she requests that they go watch the sunset over the ocean. Pat knows a nice, quiet, rocky beach north of Venice and they drive out to it just as the sky is going golden. It’s cold and windy, but they have layers and blankets to wrap up in, finding a large piece of driftwood to sit on while the sun sinks into the horizon. 

Aunt Diane has her head on Pat’s shoulder, squeezing his knee and telling him how happy she is to finally see him again, to know he’s doing so well and has someone to love him and is going to school and making art like he always wanted. Pat hooks his arm in hers and presses his cheek against her hair. “I wouldn’t be here without you, you know.” Neither of them elaborate. They both know it’s something of a miracle Pat didn’t die in that house, that he outlived Suzanne. 

“I know you don’t wanna come back to Maine, and I can’t blame you, but West Virginia’s not too far, and it’s on the way to Tennessee. Maybe at holidays, we can all get together again?” 

Pat squeezes her in a hug. “I’d really like that.” 

Diane reaches across Pat to grab Griffin’s hand. “And you! It’s been so nice meeting you. You keep taking good care of my Patty, okay?” 

Griffin takes her hand in both of his and nods. “I’ll do my best.” 

Diane gives one satisfied nod at that, teary-eyed, and they sit in comfortable silence until the stars come out and the edges of sky and ocean are an indistinguishable deep blue in the distance. 

Griffin has to work the next day and tells Diane goodbye over coffee, leaving Pat to cry and get in a few last hugs before she has to leave. Diane insists on taking a car to the airport by herself, there’s no use in making both of them brave the crowds, and Pat carries her bags out when the car arrives. He puts his arms around her and looks down into her smiling face. “I love you so much, have I ever told you that?” 

Diane blurts out a laugh and a few tears roll down her cheeks. “I don’t think you have, no, but I know you do, honey. I love you, too, like my own sweet child.” They crush each other in one last hug before Pat finally lets her go, waving as the car pulls away. 

He’s glad he has Simone and Ashley returning from Seattle to look forward to, he’s bummed out having Diane’s bright energy suddenly gone, but he knows he has his own little family here, one he’s made for himself. The four of them get together once the girls are home and exchange gifts and family stories, and Pat thinks back to how out of place he had felt in Griffin’s family warmth and love just a year ago, how alien and new it had seemed to him, and how this year that feeling is so much more familiar, trusting the people around him when they tell him and show him that they care for him. It’s hard to believe sometimes, but the evidence is bountiful and plain. 

Simone and Ashley invite them out for New Year’s, but they decide to stay in and spend a quiet evening alone. The party sounded fun, but after an eventful week with Aunt Diane, they’re ready for a little peaceful solitude. 

They shut the cats out of the bedroom before lighting some candles, and Pat is in Griffin’s lap when midnight strikes, grinding slowly, Griffin sitting up with his hands cupped against Pat’s back and staring up at him adoringly. The view from their apartment is unobstructed for several blocks and the phosphorus blast of fireworks dimly lights them in blossoming swells of color through the cracked blinds, blue and white, violet and green. The boom and crack underpins their sighs and a sharp moan from Pat as he rocks himself back against Griffin, sinking all the way down and seeing stars that have nothing to do with the pyrotechnics outside. 

Griffin stretches upward for a kiss, wrapping his arms around Pat tightly. When the fireworks die down, Griffin breaks the kiss and rests his cheek to Pat’s chest, ear pressed over his heart, listening to his breath heave in and out, to the quickening pace of his heartbeat. Pat’s fingers card through Griffin’s hair and they take up a little faster rhythm, Pat rocking back and Griffin rutting his hips up, their panting growing louder and filling the room. The sounds of loud, jovial partying filter up from the street, but Griffin can’t think of any better way to ring in the new year than making love. 

It’s rare that Pat’s in control for this. When it comes to the real soul-baring stuff, it’s usually Griffin taking the lead, but Pat gives every ounce of himself. It feels most balanced when Pat is the one dictating their pace and tone, stepping out from his usual passiveness. Griffin can’t explain it; the mechanics are the same, but this isn’t like fooling around. Sex for fun is intimate and sensual, but there’s a barrier they cross now and again, most often by accident, when they feel like they’ve both opened up completely to each other. It’s like a download of emotional information, unspoken but perfectly understood. All the love they can never put into words, every fear, all the trust and adoration and longing comes pouring out and it feels much more like they’re along for the ride rather than plotting a course. It’s such an intense sensation of _needing_ one another, it’s almost unbearable, a bittersweet experience. 

It feels like melting together all while realizing--at least for Griffin--that one day, somehow, he’s going to lose Pat. Whether it’s in a few years after they drift apart, or decades from now, old and wrinkled, and death finally does them part, but one day, he won't have Pat with him anymore. That’s a simple fact, and all he can do in the moment is be excruciatingly present, to savour every detail, to flood Pat with as much love as he can, kiss him until their lips are bruised. Pat looks down at Griffin in the candlelight, stroking a hand through his hair, the other gripped onto his shoulder, and something comes to him not so much as a thought as an impulse, _if this is the last time I make love to you, I want it burned into me, so I never forget it._

All the bullshit goes away for a little while when they cross this border from sex into… something else. The doubt they both carry about what the future might hold, wondering dreadfully if one day they won't feel this way about each other anymore, those fears flow out of them for a brief respite, and they are left unashamed and unembarrassed to cherish and treasure each as openly and exuberantly as they please. Orgasm hardly feels like the end of this kind of intimacy, and they lay tangled together tenderly touching faces and brushing fingers down arms until the candles start to burn out. 

Finally, reluctantly, they get out of bed to get ready for sleep, blowing out the last of the candles, changing the sheets, letting the cats back into the bedroom and going about their usual nightly rituals. Normalcy returns slowly, easily, and the lovemaking is a good recalibration for them. 

When the doubts and worry of whether they’re _really_ in love, if that love is _enough_ begin to weigh on them, quiet fears they both carry and only convey wordlessly in their most vulnerable moments, they cross the border and return with validation passports stamped. 

_Ah, right…_ they are reminded, _how silly of me. I’d love him until the sun burns out if they’d let me._


	25. Chapter 25

Pat is having a bad day in a bad week in a year that has been treating them both like garbage right from the start, shaping up to be a real ball-buster. 

Griffin gets the flu and Pat sleeps on the couch to keep from catching it, he doesn’t have any sick leave from work and can’t miss too many classes so early in. Charlie has what they learn is an asthma attack only after they’ve already rushed him to the vet and accrued a hefty veterinary bill. The bookstore where Pat works suddenly goes out of business, the owners had been too ashamed to admit they were declaring bankruptcy and shut their doors within a week of telling their employees. Pat is more disappointed about the situation because he had actually liked the couple and his job, but he isn’t worried at first about money. The attorney back in Maine in charge of what’s left of his family’s meager estate keeps promising everything will be worked out soon, that there are only one or two more things to settle with debts Suzanne had accumulated, but by February, he’s heard _two more weeks_ too many times and gets a new job. 

The hours aren’t as flexible as the bookstore, he doesn’t get along with any of his coworkers, and most of the restaurant’s patrons are other college-aged kids who don’t tip. It’s such a shitty job that within two weeks, he’s got another one waiting tables at a different restaurant, and for the week or so overlap between them, he barely sees Griffin at all. He’s stressed and on his feet all the time and biking almost fifteen miles every day. His appetite wanes and when he does get hungry, it feels like anxiety and often goes ignored. He starts dropping weight he can’t afford to lose, and on top of all of it, he’s begun having horrible nightmares. 

Everything added together in such a short time span is grinding him down, but he’s too anxious to relax and keeps pushing forward, making him moody, distant, and frustrated at the smallest of inconveniences. Today has pushed him into total dejection, making him feel defeated and ready to curl up in a ball and sleep for an eon. 

He walks his bike into the apartment and leaves it by the door, dragging his feet into the kitchen and not even having the energy to tell Griffin hello. Griffin is on the couch with Charlie purring like a motor in his lap and can tell in an instant something is more wrong than the general gloomy cloud as of late. He gets up to go give Pat a hug and immediately shifts into worried mother hen mode when he sees the blood. That is entirely too much of Pat’s blood. Griffin’s voice goes up an octave and his eyebrows are practically in his hairline, grabbing Pat’s wrists and looking at his scraped hands, skinned knee, and scabbed chin. “What happened?!” 

Pat lets out a long, exhausted sigh and gives into letting Griffin worry over him. “I fell. I’m okay.” Griffin presses for more information, finding more little cuts and scratches on his arms. “I ripped the strap of my backpack leaving class, it got stuck under the leg of my chair, and it ripped all the way off while I was riding home from work. I dunno, it swung forward and I was trying to hold onto it, and I just… went fuckin’ tits over teakettle.” His front wheel had jerked to the right and hit the curb, vaulting him over the handlebars. 

Griffin makes him sit on the kitchen counter and opens up the first aid kit Pat had pulled out, carefully cleaning all his scrapes and cuts. Once the blood is cleaned away, the wounds don’t look quite as bad as they had initially seemed, but there’s tiny pieces of gravel still stuck in some of them. Pat holds his hands out, palms up, and lets the stress flow out of him as Griffin patches him up. He hopes like hell Griffin isn’t the one sopping it all up again. 

There have been a few telltale signs of Griffin-angst lately; namely his penchant for sweets, but he’s also had his Bible on his nightstand for the last few weeks, the one he’s had since he was six, with his name stamped into the faux leather cover in gold leaf, worn and dotted with highlighter and sticky tags, and somewhere in Mark, chapter nine, the top edge of a tri-folded letter sticks out. It’s the last letter his mom had written him. She’d written one to all her closest loved ones in the final week of her life. The letter hasn’t been opened in a few years. The first couple lines usually have Griffin in pieces, anyway, but it’s become something of a talisman of comfort for him simply as an object. He doesn’t really read the Bible anymore, either, especially not for spiritual guidance. He doesn't believe most of it, if any of it, anymore, but it’s where she had turned to find comfort when she was alive, and even though there’s an angry part of him that still hates the universe for taking her away, that screams _what good did it do her?!_ , he tries to find her in the verses when he needs some comfort of his own. Pat has been too afraid to ask yet what he’s really looking for. 

Pat hisses as Griffin swabs his cuts with alcohol but doesn’t flinch away, moving to hop off the counter when Griffin is finally done bandaging him up, giving the heel of his hand a little kiss through the gauze, but Griffin steps in between his legs and rests his hands on Pat’s hips, keeping him there. It’s clear Griffin wants to say something but can’t quite get there, trying to word this sensitively. “I’m worried about how thin you’ve gotten.” 

Pat frowns and subconsciously folds his arms around himself. It had happened slowly enough that neither of them had noticed until Pat was suddenly very gaunt. He fights not to shut down, wishing Griffin hadn’t literally boxed him in to talk about this right now. “It’s the stress.” 

“I know it is, I get that. Are you eating when you’re at school?” 

Pat thinks about it for a moment, shakes his head. 

Griffin sighs. “Do I need to pack a lunch for you?” Pat’s eyes flash but Griffin cuts him off before he can lash out. “I’m not trying to be patronizing, I’m serious. If it’s easier for you to have food on hand, and not have to think about it, I can do that.” 

Pat grinds his teeth, embarrassed that he can slip so much in dysfunction that his boyfriend has to parent him, but he fights not to let that feeling poison him. He gives a tight nod and Griffin looks pleased to be able to do something useful for Pat. It’s easy to feel helpless against all of Pat’s trauma and mental health slips, it’s nice to have a win once in awhile and be able to do something that actually feels productive towards getting Pat back to himself. “Monday and Wednesday, when do you get out of class?” 

Pat isn’t quite following why this is important, but answers all the same. “About six.” 

Griffin hums. “Cool. Why don’t I drive you on those days? You’ve got morning classes then, I can take you before work and pick you up after, so you’re not biking so much.” 

Pat feels himself flinching away from help, his first reaction to not let himself become more of a burden, but he knows Griffin’s right, and the thought of having some extra time with Griffin is too nice to refuse. “Okay… how are _you_ doing?” Pat feels like he’s always such a mess, Griffin never gets to be the focus, and he tries to make sure Griffin’s needs don’t fall to the wayside even when he’s in a rut. He isn’t always very good at it, but he tries. Griffin thinks for a moment and then shrugs. Pat knows there’s something going on, but Griffin finds it difficult to articulate how he’s feeling when he gets out of sorts. “Is there anything I can do?” 

Griffin shrugs again. “Kiss it better?” 

Pat snorts a little and drapes his arms over Griffin’s shoulders, giving him a soft kiss, Griffin hugging Pat around the waist. They hold onto each other for some time, heads rested on shoulders, quietly soaking up each other’s comfort. Pat scrubs his fingers through the back of Griffin’s short hair, massaging his scalp gently. His hair is thick and slightly coarse, and there is a cowlick ripple right at his nape that Pat knows will curl into a ringlet on the rare occasion Griffin lets his hair grow out. In baby pictures Pat had seen in Clint’s house, Griffin had had a head full of golden, bouncy curls, and while Griffin thinks it makes the back of his head look funny, Pat loves the one remnant of his angelic infancy. 

Griffin is purring softly through his nose at the petting, his own warm, broad hand under the hem of Pat’s shirt, rubbing circles against his back. Reluctantly, he pulls away when the oven timer goes off, taking out two baked potatoes and a pan of broccoli rice casserole, one of Pat’s favorite dinners. 

Pat lets out a pleased noise and hops off the counter, grabbing plates and silverware. Griffin smiles at him. “My, uh, my boyfriend senses were tingling. I thought you might want some comfort food.” 

Pat feels like he might cry at that and hugs Griffin tightly, kissing him again. He doesn’t know how to begin telling Griffin how much these little things mean to him, but he hopes Griffin understands, that he might absorb it through osmosis in a hug. They load up their plates--Pat always opens up his potato and piles the casserole inside, topping it with salsa, which Griffin thinks is insane--and eat dinner on the couch. Pat goes back for seconds. 

In the morning, Griffin packs Pat a lunch before he heads off to work, and when Pat sits down in the grass between classes to eat, that tearful feeling comes back. He’s so full of gratitude and love and disbelief at how Griffin can make his whole day with small, thoughtful gestures. The simple lunch is all of Pat’s favorites. Peanut butter and banana sandwich, fresh strawberries, barbeque chips, and a ginger ale. There’s a chocolate protein bar, as well, that he assumes is intended as a snack, but he ends up eating it as a dessert, glad he’s hidden behind a tree from the other students on the grass when he finds the short note-- _I love you, I hope you’re having a good day!_ \--and does shed a few tears. Griffin’s love can feel so bittersweet when Pat’s down in the dark, it can make him feel like a disappointment, to be a lead balloon attached to someone so willing to give selflessly to him, to try to help however he can, but at the same time, having that love _does_ help, it does keep him from sinking too far down in the familiarity of depression. He’s so afraid it’s too much, that when it’s all tallied, Griffin isn’t in the red. 

When Pat gets home after classes and work, he still can’t articulate how much it means to him that Griffin looks out for him, to admit it is still too stuck to how ashamed and embarrassed and scared he is that he’s so much effort to be with. Instead, he gives Griffin a back rub and lots of kisses and makes him a milkshake with rum and butterscotch melts in it. 

Griffin gets suspicious. “What’s with the special treatment?” 

Pat shrugs. “Why’s it have to be special? I just wanna love on you.” 

“Yeah, okay… you don’t really do it that often, though.” 

Pat frowns. “Well, maybe I should.” 

Griffin bites the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“No, it’s okay. I should, though. I want to.” Pat leans in and kisses Griffin’s cold, butterscotched mouth. Griffin thinks better of picking at this, sharing the last of the milkshake with Pat, falling silent as they spend the rest of the evening watching TV together on the couch. 

Driving to and from school together feels like a treat for Pat. Usually their mornings are spent alone, one of them already gone and the other sleeping, depending on the day, but having two weekday mornings they get to have breakfast together and half an hour in the car is nice. They listen to podcasts on the drive and hold hands in traffic and the numbness Pat has felt like a thick wall of ice around himself starts to thaw. 

One morning is particular stormy, with huge crashes of thunder and walls of rain, bright tears of lightning striking nearby. The rain has let up a tiny bit when they arrive at campus, Griffin circling around to get closer to the building Pat needs to be at and digging an umbrella out from the backseat for him. They lean across the console to kiss goodbye and Griffin turns back to the wheel, expecting Pat to go, but Pat lingers where he is leaned across the seat and grabs Griffin’s jaw, pulling him back into another kiss. “I love you,” he mumbles under the sound of rain and rolling thunder. Griffin feels a dizzy sense of deja vu, remembering the very first time Pat had told him that, very much like this. He smiles and returns it and they kiss a little longer until Pat makes himself break away, not wanting to be late or risk the rain picking back up again. Griffin watches him run towards the building before pulling back into traffic, feeling like Pat lingers with him the rest of the day. 

Their relationship was never been static. As much as they love one another, there are times when they are closer and times when they feel more like friends. Pat gets very distant when he’s feeling bad, has described it to Griffin before as being detached from his real self, from all his emotions but sadness, and it’s a place where he knows he loves Griffin, but often can’t feel it. Griffin can always see it when it returns. Pat looks at him in a way that makes Griffin blush, that makes him feel wanted and adored. He likes his job, but he needed that look today, returning to it again and again, counting down until his shift is over and he can see Pat again. Right on schedule, the moment Pat gets in the car, having camped out to study in the library until Griffin got off work, he smiles and puts the umbrella in the backseat and there’s that look again. 

After a few weeks, Pat’s weight and mood start to stabilize, still not exactly healthy, but off their downward trend. He is still having nightmares and is often in a fog, but it’s more manageable. However, when he comes home one day and Griffin says they need to talk, his first response is sheer panic. Is this it? Is Griffin finally tired of him and his endless parade of bullshit? Is he leaving? 

Griffin sees the scared look and does his best to calm Pat’s worries, taking him to the bedroom and assuring him that it’s a serious talk, but nothing bad. He gets Pat to change into some comfier clothes and they climb onto the bed together to sit face to face, legs wrapped around each other. It’s a position they had adopted from couple’s yoga, like the love couch, to be open and honest and vulnerable, having most of their serious talks or moments of quiet intimacy like this. Pat is still panicking, not sure he has the mental energy to deal with something that requires a genuine heart-to-heart right now, but he trusts Griffin and obliges when Griffin asks that they press their foreheads together and breathe for a while. 

Griffin had thought all the yoga crap was pure mumbo-jumbo, and for a large part, he still does, but things like this feel nice, and help them both break down walls when they otherwise find hard to open up. He can _feel_ how tense and buzzing Pat is, but he keeps his own breathe relaxed and slow, his hands rested gently on the top of Pat’s thighs, until Pat’s breathing matches his and he can tell he’s uncoiled a little. It’s so hard for Pat, his mind is reeling and recoiling from the thought of opening up and being bare with his deepest, darkest intrusive thoughts and fears right now, but he tries. He closes his eyes and reminds himself Griffin has never pulled away from him before, to trust him, to remember that despite the way the depression tries to make him isolate himself and tell him there’s reason to doubt, that Griffin loves him. 

Pat opens his eyes when Griffin leans back and he takes the slip of paper when Griffin hands it to him. Again, panic rises in his throat, though he can’t imagine what he thinks it might be, but he registers quickly that the paper is an ATM receipt, with their joint account’s balance printed at the bottom. 

_$231,459.73_

“Holy fuck…” Even knowing the money was coming sometime that week, knowing the total, seeing it now knocked him back, and this wasn’t even the sale of the house, yet. He looks up at Griffin, not sure why this is so serious. Exciting, yes, a relief, for sure, but he can’t figure out how a discussion is involved. 

Griffin has been thinking all afternoon how to word this as lovingly and softly as possible, but none of the gentler approaches feel right. It comes out very plain and to the point. “I know you said you wanted to donate some of this, and I still think you should, but I want you to prioritize getting health insurance, and I want you to start seeing a psychiatrist.” 

It feels like a kick in the ribs. Pat knows, he knows that’s not how it was meant, but he hears it as “fix your shit” and a lump forms densely in his throat, nearly choking him. 

Griffin puts his hands on Pat’s shoulders to steady him. “I really, really need you to be okay, and there’s things I just can’t do for you. I’ve been researching about child abuse and how trauma changes the brain, I think therapy and maybe medication could help you a lot, baby.” 

Pat feels trapped, it’s embarrassing and difficult to be this upset with Griffin right in his personal space. “I’m sorry,” comes out of his mouth before he knows why. 

Griffin frowns, tilting his head and rubbing up and down Pat’s arms now. “Why? You don’t have to be sorry. I know it’s scary, but I feel like we’ve both exhausted our options on how to help you through this.” He sits with Pat while he cries, comforting him gently and letting him work through the initial shock. Griffin knows this is confrontational, but it’s necessary. After a few minutes, when Pat seems like he’s beginning to accept this and calm down, Griffin adds, “I want to start going to therapy, too.” 

“With me?” Pat asks, confused. 

“Maybe, if you think that would help. But… babe, my anxiety is still fucking awful. I’ve had two panic attacks in the last week.” 

Pat balks. “What? You didn’t tell me!” 

Griffin twists his mouth, shrugging. “I didn’t want to bother you with it…” 

“No!” Pat cups Griffin’s face, his brows drawn together in an expression of concern. “No, don’t do that! To either of us! I wanna know what’s going on with you. Even when I’m a fucking mess, I’m always here for you, okay?” 

Griffin leans his cheek into one of Pat’s palms. “I know that, I do. It’s just… hard. When I was in school, I could tell myself I was anxious because of classes and grades and whatever. Then when I moved here, because it was new and I was looking for a job. But it’s… always there, and it’s been getting really bad lately and it’s not from any sort of source, it’s just… there. And I don’t know how to talk about it, and then I feel like if I talked about it, it might make it worse, or that it might make _you_ feel like you couldn’t talk to me about what’s going on with you, I don’t fucking know… it’s really complicated and I’m ready to deal with it with someone who might actually know how to help me. And I… never talked to a grief counselor or anything after mom. And it still weights on me. Maybe it won’t do anything, but I can’t not try.” 

Pat nods along, feeling awful that he hadn’t known, hadn’t asked what was really going on with Griffin, though he wonders if Griffin would have told him before, anyway. “I’m sorry, I know I’m not making it easier for you.” 

“Don’t say that. This is hard, but it’s not something you’re doing. We both have some shit we need to deal with, and now that you have the resources, I think we should seek some professional help.” He sees Pat’s jaw tense and even though he’s nodding, he can feel him resisting. “What? Why do you seem like you don’t want to?” He keeps his voice soft, wanting to know what’s going on in Pat’s head. 

Pat sniffs, looking off absently in the corner of the room and shrugs. “It’s scary, thinking about talking to a stranger about this. The student counselors at school was different somehow? And that was still really scary. I know they’ll want to medicate me… that’s _very_ scary, but also, like… I dunno… going to a professional feels like I’m going to get, found out? They’ll _know_ what’s wrong with me, like… it just feels like this acknowledgment of _hey, you’re fucked up and broken_ , and…” He sniffles again, a tear streaking down his face. His voice is very faint when he speaks again, looking down at his hands resting gently on Griffin’s chest. “I’m ashamed, that I’m like this.” 

More tears come and Griffin pulls Pat to him, hugging him and rocking him gently for a long while. Pat sits up after a bit and Griffin reaches to wipe his eyes. “So you’ll go?” 

Pat nods sullenly. “Yeah, I’ll go.” They hug again and Pat mumbles into Griffin’s shoulder, “I’m sorry I didn’t know what was going on with you.” 

Griffin shakes his head and rubs Pat’s back, snuggling him tightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you about it.” 

They sit in an embrace, quiet and slowly settling into a peaceful calm, processing through the fear of tackling things head-on, and slowly accepting it, sinking into the knowledge that this, too, is a way of taking care of one another. Over the next week, Griffin helps Pat figure out how to sign up for insurance, hunting through a few different companies, and they both help each other find some therapists that seems fit for their needs. With a good safety net now, Pat quits his job and focuses on school for the rest of the semester. 

The first few weeks of therapy are exhausting and leave him raw and maybe feeling worse than when he started. He has to rehash a lot of his past and cries through most of the sessions, and when the doctor does diagnose him with major depressive disorder and prescribe medication, it feels so shameful to him at first, like he’s defective, but after a few more weeks, when he adjusts to the medication and his faulty brain chemicals balance out, he feels silly for his initial fears. It isn’t a miracle cure, but it helps him put some distance between himself and all the dark, awful feelings that have gotten used to living in his head. It’s still terrifying sometimes and hurtful and sad to talk about how he’s feeling and what he’s been through, but it _is_ helping. 

Pat hadn’t even noticed that the old goofy, loud and obnoxious Griffin had faded until he was suddenly back, and Pat had missed him so much, even when he’s irritating with all his jokes and loud voice and constant chatter. He had also started taking medication and it keeps the coiling anxious feeling at bay and helps him stay grounded whenever dread and panic try to settle over him. It feels at once like they’re finally back to their old selves, and like something new is emerging, and while they both have a tiny worry that this positive growth will be away from each other, it feels much more likely that the opposite is true, becoming more open and close and ready to talk about what’s bothering them in the moment rather than bottle it up. 

After the first few post-medication sessions, Pat’s ready to clear up at old bottled issue. He and Griffin check in with each other about how therapy is going and how they’re feeling once a week, and it’s a good opportunity for Pat to come clean. 

They are sitting on the couch, turned toward each other, and Pat reaches to put a hand over Griffin’s. “Buddy, I lied to you.” 

Griffin tries very hard not to spook. “About?” 

Pat purses his lips. He’d practiced saying this, to make sure he got it out and didn’t backpedal. “When we first started dating and it got really bad for me, you asked me if I’d ever tried to kill myself before.” Griffin nods, remembering this, of course. Knowing that Pat had been suicidal then has stuck with him ever since, always afraid of what may happen. Pat squeezes his hand. “I told you no.” 

Griffin feels very worried right now, not sure why Pat is telling him this. He can’t stop his mind from imagining Pat, with what? A razor in his hand? There aren’t any scars. A bottle of pills? Before he can think better of himself he asks, “how?” But Pat shakes his hand, his thumb stroking the back of Griffin’s hand. 

“You don’t want to know that. It was before we met, I’ve never tried again after that. But I lied about it and it’s always bothered me. I’ve had to talk about it recently and thinking about it is really, really hard. I… should not be here. It doesn’t make sense that I’m still here. I used to wonder why I hadn’t died, and it’s fucking _rough_ to revisit all that, but… it also makes me think about how I got to meet you. I don’t know if I believe that’s _why_? That seems a little too corny…” They both chuckle a little and Griffin nods. “But I wanted you to just know that… the truth, and that, I’m so fucking glad I’m still here, and you’re a huge part of that.” 

Griffin yanks him into a crushing hug. “I’m glad you’re still here, too.” It had twisted his gut to know Pat’s been in a place so low he’s wanted to stop living, but to know now that he had actually tried to take his life rips Griffin’s heart to pieces. The hardest part of Pat’s depression and past for him isn’t the coldness or the mood swings or the lack of sex drive, it’s knowing someone he loves so much is in so much pain. But it’s slowly getting better, for both of them. 

They can’t exactly say the year is getting _easier_. It’s hard to be made to look at where they both really are, at the wounds they both carry and the regrets and shame, but it’s important. The more they look back, the further in the distance some of it seems. It’s early into this new leg of the journey together, but they feel hopeful that it’s truly all for the better, and when they have a lapse and feel that it’s too hard or too easy to feel like they don’t deserve to do it for themselves, they can always find motivation again in knowing they also do it for each other.


	26. Chapter 26

It takes a long time to convince Pat to _relax_. With the security of his inheritance, Griffin insists Pat spend the summer doing what he enjoys and not finding a job. The first couple of weeks after the semester ends is torture, he’s so bored, but he slowly establishes new routines. Three times a week he goes to a yoga class nearby--one class a week is couples’ class with Griffin--and volunteers both at the animal shelter and a queer youth center twice a week. The rest of the time, he works on his video game as if it were a job, scheduling himself time and really digging into it, tackling the art and the barebones of coding. He had shied away from it for long enough, feeling like he needed to get his art or the concept to a better level, but that approach had mostly been procrastination, and the idea has been sitting with him for years now. Once he really digs into it, it flows out of him in waves. 

Griffin gets little peeks now and then but he’s fine with waiting until Pat is ready to show him. He knows Pat keeps things close to the chest until he’s sure they’re worthy of being seen, and Griffin likes that Pat values his opinion enough that he always ensures things are nearly perfect by the time he’s ready for Griffin to see them. It’s a nice surprise, really, to wait and see the full thing. Griffin often does the same with Pat, keeping his music to himself until he knows a song is at least mostly done before he plays it for Pat. The summer, and continued therapy, has pushed them both into a creative tear. On the weekends, they quietly sit back-to-back in the office corner, Griffin with headphones on and the quiet click of keys as he composes while Pat draws or animates. They spend a lot of time doing their own thing in each other’s company, committing to a weekly date night out of the house when they realize how little they’ve truly been interacting, but it’s nice. Their shared seclusion is comfortable and they’re happy for each other’s renewed interests. 

One of their first date nights is a cooking class, which inspires Pat to cook more often, having dinners ready for Griffin when he comes home from work. They aren’t always winners, but he’s got a few new dishes in his repertoire that Griffin likes a lot, and it feels good to do real physical things to show Griffin he cares, often finding it hard to do so in other ways. 

The medication curbs Griffin’s libido and they spend the summer rarely having sex, but it doesn’t feel distant. In fact, with Griffin’s usual appetite dulled, they spend a lot more time appreciating being physically affectionate without the end goal of climax. Things that usually served as precursors or post-coital gestures become a main course, cuddling a lot with wandering hands, slow, unrushed kisses, wrapping around each other and laying together for the closeness alone. The couples’ yoga classes help them explore it a little more, getting very comfortable with each other’s space in new ways they hadn’t been before. Griffin particular enjoys the breath exercises; they had felt silly to him in the beginning, but having present, soft moments with Pat, simply breathing together, or sharing a long, adoring gaze is immeasurably wonderful to him. As they each heal on their own, coming together feels different. The usual heart-flutter and blush is still there, but something new has settled in, a calm sureness that is a comfort and a dampener to the small worries that what they have now will one day seem like folly, that one day they won't be together. Griffin knows all too well that anything can happen, but he’s finding more and more often that being with Pat for the rest of his life is a sure thing, is something he wants without question. 

Pat has come to a similar resolution, and a month after their third anniversary, shyly shares an idea with Griffin he’s had for a while. A lifetime together Griffin is fine with, but he’d flinched away from this different form of permanency at first. Once he had come around, though, he doesn’t regret it. It’s nice to have a constant reminder, his family on one side with the triforce, and Pat on the other. They had both gotten the same design, Griffin’s on his right wrist, Pat’s on his left arm, just below his elbow. 

“Even if one day we aren’t together anymore,” Pat had explained, unsure of this notion that seemed so cheesy but so right, “we’ve meant a lot to each other, and that’s not ever going to change.” 

“Why this, though?” Griffin had been iffy about the image at first, a botanical illustration of a sprig of flowering rosemary, but they had found a fantastic artist, and in a way, it even makes him feel lovely to have it inked into his skin now. 

“Well,” Pat had looked at his hands, nervous. “It symbolizes love, and healing, and remembrance. So we can always having a reminder of how we’ve loved each other, and… and healed together.” This seals it for Griffin, and now even if in some distant future they drift apart, he always has a little piece of a relationship that changed him, that has meant the world to him for three years, though he hopes for many, many more years ahead. 

As the summer broils hotter towards its end, they are both glad to get out of LA for a few days, hailed by an invitation that had been on their fridge since spring, addressed formally in handwritten, curling letters: 

_Griffin Andrew McElroy & Avery Patrick Gill_

Griffin had wondered what in the hell Travis had wanted to know Pat’s full name for, and the wedding invitation was a shock at first, Travis and Teresa had only been dating for a year, but in the time since the engagement, Griffin has gotten to know Teresa quite a bit over Skype and messages. When they land in Ohio, still summery but breezy and bright unlike LA’s blistering bake, he’s happy to meet her for the first time, and instantly likes her. It’s strange, only meeting his sister-in-law a few days before they get married, and it’s a sharp reminder how far he is from his family. He’s glad within the first hour of seeing his dad and brothers again that he and Pat have already decided to spend Candlenights in West Virginia. 

Despite finally being of legal age, Pat is the designated driver for Travis’ stag party, an amused observer as they bar-hop, playing pool and singing (mostly rather bad) karaoke. He’d expected for Griffin to be all over him by the end of the night, his boyfriend is a very handsy drunk, but he’s surprised that instead, it’s strippers he has to awkwardly fend off as the night wears on. He guesses they must have finely tuned gaydar and deem him both as safe and fun to gently tease; dancers and waitresses alike sit next to or even on Pat when they come to their booth. He had never thought in his life that he’d ever have two topless women in his lap, but, here he is. 

“Does it bug you that your boyfriend got a lapdance?” one of them asks over the music. 

Pat shrugs. “Not really.” 

“So this does nothing for you?” the other woman asks, gently scratching at his scalp, just behind the ear, with her long acrylic nails, which he does have to admit feels very, very good. 

Pat keeps his hands flat on the seat on either side of him, catching himself when he moves to put a supporting hand on either of their backs. “I mean… you’re both really pretty? But I kind of think most women are pretty. I’m just not attracted to them.” This seems to be the right answer, and he supposes he can’t blame them. It must be nice to have someone that will tip without having to perform, or be squeezed and grabbed at like a child with a toy. He leaves with lipstick kisses on his cheeks and the Twitter handle of one dancer he’d talked to about art for a good long while scribbled on a napkin in his pocket. 

Griffin and Pat are sharing a hotel room with Justin and Sydnee, and the brothers are hungover in the morning. Sydnee and Pat leave them to their misery and head down to the lobby for some breakfast. Sydnee is _very_ pregnant now and Pat gets up to grab her refills of juice and more food, insisting she let him worry over her. They sit and talk for a while and when the baby starts to kick, Sydnee pulls Pat’s hand to her stomach and presses, helping him feel the movement. He’s never felt a baby kick before, or touched a pregnant belly at all, and his breath quickens a little. It’s different from how he had expected, assuming it would just feel like one firm mass, but he can feel the tiny foot, and when Sydnee guides his hand around, he can clearly feel the little bottom and the head, one hand on each, making it very apparent there is a small baby in there, wrapped across Sydnee’s torso, and not just a watermelon lump he had always thought it must be like. The baby moves into a different position and Sydnee lets Pat keep his hands on her stomach to feel it, smiling at the look of wonder on his face. She almost asks him if he’s ready to be an uncle, they all think it’s pretty obvious Pat’s not going anywhere anytime soon, but they’ve also all agreed not to pester Griffin and Pat about when they’re going to get married. She can see it, though, in the way he gingerly touches at the baby through her stomach and can’t quite stop smiling, he’s going to love his little niece. 

The hangovers are all subdued by the rehearsal dinner. The two families get along quite well, there’s lots of laughter around the table, but there’s something off about some of the looks Pat keeps seeing from distant cousins and elderly family members. At one point as they are all getting ready to leave, Griffin overhears Teresa tell someone sternly, “Patrick was _invited_ ,” but no one confronts them directly. He’d been afraid of this, his distant relatives especially are deeply religious and he’s never formally come out to them. Seeing him with Pat must be a shock, but he’s glad they haven’t had the nerve or decency to say anything to either of them up front. He can handle whispers. His dad and brothers are a keen buffer and won’t tolerate a single word of bullshit about it. 

The wedding itself is lovely and feels very personal and charming, with the traditions still there but without feeling stuffy or old-fashioned. Pat thinks this is a good thing, but he overhears some moaning at the reception. It wasn’t in a church, Teresa’s dress was too low-cut and she should have had her hair up, the minister’s short sermon hadn’t been very good, and another comment that has Pat abandoning his spot in the buffet line, unable to keep from laughing, heading back to the table. He puts an arm around Griffin and leans in, speaking low in his ear. “Apparently you’re flaunting me.” 

Griffin groans. “Fuuuuuck. Did they call you my ‘gay lover’? I’ve heard that one a few times. I’m gonna start calling straight people that. ‘Hey, have you seen cousin Jimmy and his straight lover, Karen?’ I’m sorry, babe.” He’d warned Pat about this. His own family had been raised more with the Love of God, but that light-hearted compassion wasn’t ubiquitous to the whole McElroy clan. Some of them were old school Baptists, the kind that when they went to church with them while visiting, the preachers had scared the Hell _into_ a very young Griffin, who was not at all used to such psychological warfare. 

Pat thankfully doesn’t really care. He refuses to act any different for the comfort of others. The people who matter want him there, and don’t expect him and Griffin to be less affectionate with each other than any other couple in attendance. After dinner when the music stars, Pat and Griffin slow dance together, Pat’s cheek rested on the top of Griffin’s head, swaying slowly. This apparently is a grand offense to the few staunch traditionalists, but again, they are never personally confronted. As a fuck-you, Justin, Travis, and Clint all dance with Pat throughout the night, too. Justin insists on being spun a lot and Travis gets rather sappy, barely able to take his eyes off his new bride across the room, telling Pat he hopes maybe he and Griffin are next to get hitched, and that he’s so glad his little brother has someone like Pat in his life. Pat doesn’t really know what to say. It’s sinking in more and more that the longer he and Griffin are together, the more Griffin’s family is Pat’s, too. He’d not only been an only child, but a very lonely one. Gaining brothers now as an adult is an unexpected and treasured gift. 

The champagne goes to Pat’s head and he excuses himself to get some fresh air. There’s a park with a playground next door to the venue and he walks to the swings, sitting down for a while, just thinking. He must have been gone for longer than he realizes, because Griffin shows up as Pat is lost in thought, sitting down in the swing next to him. “You okay?” 

Pat nods. “Yeah, I’m fine, sorry. I just got really hot and sort of claustrophobic, needed some air.” He reaches his hand out for Griffin’s and they swing together for a moment. Griffin indulges him for a bit before letting him know Teresa and Travis are about to leave and they should be there for the send-off. They hop off the swings and tuck arms around each other, walking back toward the building. “You look good in a suit, by the way,” Pat comments, having found himself checking Griffin out most of the night. He really does clean up nice. 

Griffin grins devilishly. “You, too, hot stuff.” And boy does he. Pat’s tall-and-skinny build looks elegant in dress slacks and a fitted jacket. He’s pretty pleased with the both of them, they make quite a fetching pair. 

They arrive just in time to join the small crowd around Travis’ decorated car, seeing the happy couple off. They don’t linger long before returning back to the hotel, sitting up in bed watching late night talk shows with Justin and Sydnee, sharing the horde of chocolates Sydnee had snuck out of the banquet hall in her purse. In the morning, they check out and have brunch with the immediate families, everyone saying their goodbyes in the parking lot in a round of hugs. Pat can see how hard it is for Griffin saying goodbye to his family. Ohio is just a drive from Huntington, and even Texas had been doable, but flights aren’t cheap and California is a long way away. 

Griffin and Pat ride to the airport with Teresa and Travis, whose honeymoon flight is just a couple hours ahead of Pat and Griffin’s. Once they are in the air, they’re exhausted, resting their heads together, Pat watching Griffin play his DS. It will be so nice to be back home, in their bed, with the cats, again. Pat thinks he might ask Griffin to put on his suit so Pat can take it off of him again. 

Despite himself, the wedding had got him thinking a lot about marriage and what it means. On one hand, he still stands by his original position that commitment doesn’t require any sort of ceremony or title. He can be Griffin’s devoted partner without any sort of declaration or label-change. If they know they want to spent their lives together, what does it matter if they’re married or not? At the same time, though, he does like the idea of vows, of making real promises to Griffin and keeping them, though the thought of doing it in a public ceremony like a wedding is off-putting and even anxiety-inducing. With the way he feels about matrimony, it shouldn’t matter if they get married five years from now or tomorrow, but Pat also knows he doesn’t feel ready just yet, and he can’t quite explain why. He thinks perhaps he wants to be a little further along in recovery, to be a little more mature and stitched together before they start a new phase of their life together, but doing so admits that there _is_ something different about marriage, and he’s tantalized by the idea of it now in a way he has never been before. 

He keeps all this to himself for now. Griffin is watching the world go by below and Pat is watching _him_ , the little voice in his head that had been the first to shout _I love him!_ reminding him now that one day, Griffin will be his husband, and for once, that doesn’t feel weird to think about. The label is usually clunky and foreign to him, but it’s becoming a little clearer. For now, like them, it’s still up in the air, and he’s fine with that. They have plenty of time, or so he hopes, rubbing at the inside of his left arm. He can’t know for sure, neither of them can, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’d been right when he’d told Griffin he was the love of his life. 

Three years is hardly a lifetime, or even twenty-one, for certain, but they’ve been the best for him so far. He crosses his fingers that one day, he’ll have spent more time loving and being loved by Griffin than he spent being beaten and beaten down by his mother, that one day the scale will tip, but he’s beginning to think it isn’t as straight-forward as that. Already, three years feels like it is blasting away the previous seventeen. He has a hunch it isn’t about the length of time, but the way in which it is spent. Love may make him feel full of helium, but it’s dense and heavy, and now especially, with medication and a doctor and some time to take to himself, he realizes maybe things are closer to balanced than he’d thought. Maybe much sooner than expected, he will no longer be weighed down by the things that had been done to him, and instead be anchored by the things he chooses to do, and being with Griffin is by far his favorite choice.


	27. Chapter 27

_Behind them, the ground shakes and heaves upwards, toppling hardwoods and scattering boulders, a raucous noise of moving earth, but Inak’s voice is still loudest of all, calling out the spell. The dirt and roots and stones crumble away from the the thing her magicks have called into being. It is a great hulking mass, with a head that is all teeth and bone, and four thick arms sprouting from its back._

_Sorrel, closest to the creature, nocks an arrow and begins to pull. The creature swings one massive arm and catches Sorrel across the chest, unbothered by the bolt sticking out of its neck, throwing Sorrel into the air, landing in a heap several yards off. He was already bloodied, and he is now motionless on the ground. The others move in to attack the monstrous beast, but Avarax runs to Sorrel’s aid, tossing aside his lyre and laying his clawed hands on Sorrel’s chest. It’s very still, he isn’t certain if there’s any flutter of breath or beat left in it._

_Avarax closes his eyes and tries to cast a healing spell, but his voice is shaking and wavers, the magick wilting and then gone, like a candle snuffed out. He tries again and Sorrel’s chest heaves with a cough, but there is blood on his lips. The damage is extensive. Avarax clutches his head, panicked. “No, no, no, _please_ , my love, hold on!” He yanks his satchel from over his head and upturns it, hunting through the contents, desperately searching for something that might help…_

Pat picks up his phone from the table, asking it with monotone dejection, “Siri, how do I become a lich?” 

There’s a little ripple of laughter from everyone else, though Pat is panicked his character is about to finally eat it. Griffin reads over his inventory list for a second time. “Shit shit shit! I’m retiring these dice! Uuuuuh, okay, um, DM?” 

Russ hikes a brow, set up at his own card table with a laptop and Griffin’s office chair and a big fuckoff plastic goblet of ale. “Yeeeees?” 

“I’ve got like eight agro potions, can I administer all of them at once to, like, defibrillate him?” 

“You mean like Pulp Fiction style?” 

“Yeah.” Griffin bites the tip of his tongue and waits for Russ to consider it, crossing his skinny arms and tilting his head, thinking it over. 

“You know what?” Russ sighs and leans forward on his elbows, nodding. “Roll for it.” 

_There is a crystalline clatter of vials as Avarax hastily places all of the potions on Sorrel’s chest, lifting both hands above his head and hesitating briefly before bringing them down with a bellow, shattering the glass, the mist of magickal concoction glowing faintly as it sinks into Sorrel’s prone form. For a moment, there is nothing, and then, in a whistling, loud inhale, Sorrel sits bolt upright, disoriented, his veins full of adrenaline, but alive._

_Avarax lets out a draconic sound of joy, cupping Sorrel’s face briefly before shoving his crossbow into his hands. “Stay here. Don’t die.”_

_Quickly getting to his feet again, Avarax snatches up his lyre and turns back to the creature. It only has three arms now, Kuoni has seen to that, but his friends are barely holding their own against this massive beast, summoned up and animated by the dreadful magicks of Inak. Avarax feels a hopeless fear seize him for the smallest moment, but he cannot let it land. He has very little energy left in him now, but there is just enough for one more spell. Strumming a rapid, urgent triplet of chords, he moves towards the creature and sucks in a breath, feeling the crackle of electricity zip across his tongue, and casts Thunderwave._

When Simone had suggested they form a D &D party together, Pat had flinched away from the idea, but six months deep into the campaign now, the game has become one of the best parts of his week. Griffin had played before in high school and helped Pat learn as they went along, encouraging him to lean into the corniness and theatre of it. Once Pat had finally gotten past the initial feelings of embarrassment and unease, there was no looking back. 

Russ is a work-friend of Griffin’s, an IT specialist at the radio station, and had jumped at the chance to DM when Griffin had mentioned the idea. They’ve all grown very fond of him, both as a friend and a DM. Russ has an impeccable poker face and has woven a campaign that has tested the moral compasses of the characters and kept them all on their toes, a story about being in the wrong place at the right time and stepping up to do the right thing when no one else will, uncovering layer after layer of corruption in their world but continuing to believe that justice can still find a foothold and win out over greed and malice. 

Simone and Ashley had begun the campaign as enemies, begrudgingly forging a truce until the issue at hand can be dealt with, but over the course of the adventure, have grown very close and affectionate, teetering on lovers. Ashley’s drow sorceress had cursed the soil of Simone’s Goliath barbarian’s village, nothing personal, just a commissioned curse, something to earn a little gold on the side, but the barbarian chieftess, Kuoni Stormcarver Valu-Navae, daughter of the blood of the leopard, warrior queen of the snowy plains, and champion of her people, refused to accept that all of G’ellanna Do’val’s sales were final, _especially_ curses. Shortly after one of their first hard battles, when Kuoni had saved G’ellanna’s life, the curse had been undone. 

Their aloof cleric is the wildcard of the bunch. It had really thrown them for a loop when bubbly, talkative Allegra--a friend of Pat’s he had met while studying in the library and immediately clicked with--had rolled out such a no-nonsense, morose elf, getting very into character. A devotee of the Dark Lady, the ancient goddess personified as the space between the stars, Varo is a competent cleric, but an unpredictable one. More than once through the campaign, he has swayed toward temptation, constantly struggling to read the signs and know if the will of Lo’ukhatzi is to fight the darkness consuming this world, or embrace it, to _feed_ it. 

Griffin’s dragonborn bard, Avarax Taldrin, has become something of a mascot of their party, if only for the players. If his spells and charm don’t win out, there’s always his breath of lightning. It’s overkill most of the time, but it certainly does the trick. His partner is a man of few words, a human ranger who has been the saving blow for the party on numerous occasions. Avarax annoys most of the other party and Sorrel tends to intimidate them, but both sufficiently pull their weight. Griffin has had some spectacularly good rolls that have gained Avarax the reputation of a powerful and inspiring bard. It was not until recently that it was revealed that Sorrel, too, was capable of terrible, strong magick. For months, Pat had sat on the secret, sharing it only with Russ, waiting for the perfect opportunity. When Sorrel Falcongaze had cast that first spell, there was an initial laugh from the group, assuming this was a joke, but when Russ had allowed him to use the spell without any explanation, the roar of disbelief and excitement had gotten them in trouble with Russ’ neighbors, and the hex had summarily won them the battle. There are still details Pat is keeping for a rainy day, but the party has finally gotten used to the fact that their quiet ranger is a warlock. 

When they have defeated Inak’s earthen monster by the skin of their teeth, Russ calls the game, now at a good stopping point. Everyone helps clean up, putting away dishes and leftover snacks, breaking down the folding tables and chairs, joking and talking as they square everything away before giving a round of hugs and goodbyes at the door. Charlie sneaks out and walks Allegra and Russ to the elevator, sitting and swishing his tail until he hears the elevator open again on the ground floor before trotting back inside the apartment. He does it every time they have guests over now, their own little furry doorman. Cecil, conversely, has to be quarantined in the bedroom during D &D so he doesn’t try to eat dice or escape when everyone leaves. 

The apartment feels very quiet and empty now, but it’s a peaceful shift. Pat and Griffin settle on the couch and put a nature documentary on in the background while they process through the game session. Pat lays on his back with his head in Griffin’s lap, absently playing with Griffin’s fingers. They both daydream, and having characters with an established history had become sort of a joint daydream for them. 

From the very beginning, they had Sorrel and Avarax’s relationship fairly fleshed out, filling in details as they progress. Both characters are essential parts of the other. Sorrel had been a guide-for-hire through a mountain pass dividing two large cities, and Avarax had been in a party travelling under his protection. The journey took nearly a fortnight, but by the end of it, they were both madly in love. At the time, it was not something they admitted to each other, but on Avarax’s return journey through the pass a few months later, the deep pull between them was still there, and a quiet night alone had finally uncorked the truth of their feelings. They had traveled together ever since, and had been together for several years before meeting the rest of their current adventuring party. 

Sorrel rarely speaks, and when he does it is usually only to Avarax in a pidgin form of draconic they’ve developed to adapt to Sorrel’s human voice. There have been some hints that Sorrel’s quietness may have something to do with his being a warlock, but Pat has only given Griffin a few little clues. Both Griffin and Avarax had had no idea about Sorrel’s powers until Sorrel had had no other choice than to cast that first hex, and there haven’t been a lot of details offered. Pat has promised that if it doesn’t all get laid out by the end of the campaign, he’ll tell Griffin the whole story. 

Griffin rubs the tip of his finger across the ball of Pat’s thumb, looking down at Pat in his lap. “I really almost had a fucking panic attack, like… in a fun way sort of because it’s easy to get so caught up in the game and it was really intense, but also part of me couldn’t help but start thinking about ‘shit, what if I lost Pat?’ Like, it wasn’t a big leap to think, okay, if this is what Avarax is feeling right now, that’s what I’d feel if something awful happened to you, too, and I’m really goddamn glad it resolved in a sort of funny way? I was about to lose it, babe.” 

Pat frowns and coos, reaching up the stroke Griffin’s cheek. “Aaaw, I’m sorry, buddy. I really thought that was it for me. I was a breath away from having to pull out some necromantic shit.” His hand drops and he rubs the soft material of Griffin’s t-shirt between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m gonna miss them after this campaign, I didn’t really anticipate that when we started.” 

Griffin hums, his hand squeezing Pat’s hip gently. “Yeah, it’s always sort of bittersweet after you really get attached to a character. But I mean, they’re still ours. We can still talk about them, and I can write some scenes with you consulting if you wanted? We don’t have to totally abandoned them once we move onto the next game.” 

Pat thinks about it a moment, liking the prospect of being let into Griffin’s writing. They still pretend like Pat doesn’t read everything Griffin writes, Pat wonders if maybe his shyness about it has waned since he began writing collaboratively with Simone. It’s a nice thought. There are lots of little scenes they’ve mentioned before that haven’t been fleshed out, and it assuages some of the dread Pat is feeling about the campaign nearing its end to know they’ve still got some reserve story to work with. He knows he definitely would like to more thoroughly flesh out Sorrel and Avarax’s first night together and almost regrets telling Griffin so when Griffin gets a sly, playful grin on his face. 

They have most of that first night figured out already. Avarax can’t sleep and finds Sorrel similarly afflicted, sitting on an overhang looking down at the valley below. The full moon is bright and illuminates everything with a silver-blue light. It’s only been a couple of days into Avarax’s return voyage and the bizarre tension between he and Sorrel is palpable. They talk at first about their home villages--Sorrel had grown up in a dragonborn hamlet and was familiar with their customs and even a bit of the language--and how far from home they both are and the things and places they’ve seen in between. At last, Avarax can’t take it and addresses the magnetism between them, and Sorrel cannot conceal the truth, admitting he feels the same way, like he is being pulled into Avarax by some strange, soul-deep force. The moment the tension breaks, the momentum that flows out cannot be reversed. They wind up making love in the grass under the stars. Sorrel is reluctant at first, he isn’t sure how Avarax will react to his body--it had been another little backpocket secret Pat kept from everyone but Russ and Griffin, until a visit to a bathhouse with the party had eventually revealed that Sorrel is trans--but for the dragonborn, it makes no difference. He feels without question that Sorrel’s soul was forged with a beacon for him; his physical form is of little consequence, though still thoroughly beloved. 

They’ve discussed in fair detail how Avarax’s body works and how they have sex, and that kissing isn’t entirely possible, but they like to neck and cuddle. Pat is sitting up between Griffin’s thighs now, arms draped over Griffin’s shoulders while they discuss whether or not Sorrel and Avarax would be married. Griffin leans his head back, thinking. “I’m not sure what the official lore is, but I’d imagine dragonborn probably mate for life, that there’s probably a ritual like a soul-binding? Not exactly a wedding sort of thing. And it’s maybe something that’s determined by the bond, not really made? Does that make sense? Like how they were pulled together, I think maybe for Avarax that would be a sign not that Sorrel is who is is supposed to mate with, but that Sorrel is the person who has always been his intended mate. Does that make sense?” 

“Soul mates, basically?” 

“Yeah, sure. So them even being together at all for Avarax is like being married already.” 

Pat hums and nods. It’s a little cheesy, but he likes that aspect of roleplaying. He feels dumb thinking about stuff like predestined love and whatnot in real life circumstances, but it’s nice and romantic and fun to toy with the concepts in a fictional space. Sorrel and Avarax have become a neat little extension of he and Griffin’s own relationship, a sort of fantasy playground of over-the-top gestures and theatrically intense love that feels stiff and awkward in real life, but that they can take risks with and enjoy as characters. Sorrel wears one of Avarax’s cobalt and bronze scales on a cord around his neck, and Avarax has a braided lock of Sorrel’s hair pinned into his hat. They sneak in little romantic moments in-game, like bringing each other flowers or mentioning how they are cuddled together during long rests. The others had poked a bit of fun at them for playing a couple in game, but by now, both the players and characters seem endeared to Sorrel and Avarax’s love affair. 

Talking about the mechanics of dragonborn-human sex has started to bleed over into talking about sex in general, Griffin’s hands sliding between Pat’s thighs, squeezing and rubbing at his long legs, making Pat squirm. Griffin grins up at Pat devilishly, his fingers pressing into a spot he knows is still tender and bruised from where he’d bitten and sucked it dark purple a few nights before. Pat gasps softly. “You know some comparative anatomy might help us nail down the logistics a little better…” 

Pat lets out a little chuckles, tracing a finger over the shell of Griffin’s ear, making his shudder. “That’s very academic of you, research is very important.” He leans down and kisses Griffin soundly, their tongues meeting briefly before Griffin pulls away, slips his arm under the back of Pat’s knees, and rocks forward with a grunt, standing up off the couch with Pat in his arms. Pat squacks in surprise and it dies into a laugh, looping his arms around Griffin’s neck as he’s carried into the bedroom. 

“Research, right, exactly, that’s what this is.” Griffin tosses Pat onto the bed and stretches out over him, his mouth finding the exact spot on Pat’s neck that turns him to jelly. “You take notes, I plan on being _very_ thorough.”


	28. Chapter 28

It’s a weekly ritual by now. Every Friday when he gets off work, Griffin calls his dad while he sits in traffic, and usually continues to talk to him until Pat gets home from class. He’s sitting on the loveseat now, watching the street for Pat while he and his dad talk, and it’s a little heavier today than usual. Clint had been on a slow simmer since the wedding about the reactions of some of the other guests, especially those of his own family. He’s kept it to himself for months, but seeing it first hand has made even microaggressive things stand out to him now, worrying about what it might be like for his youngest son. It’s weird for Griffin to be talking about homophobia with his dad, rehashing some of the more absurd and offensive comments overheard in Ohio. “Is that… normal? Are you used to hearing stuff like that?” 

“Well… yeah, dad. Not so much out here, but back in Austin, and definitely growing up. I was terrified in high school that people would find out I wasn’t straight.” 

“I hope I never made you think I’d be ashamed of you. I’m not, you know. Me and your mom weren’t ever like that, were we?” Part of the quiet simmering had been examining his own beliefs and prejudices, weeding out the rotten stuff he’d picked up culturally. There was more there to toss out than he’d have liked, to be honest. 

Griffin chews his lip. “No, you weren’t, but you weren’t really… I dunno, actively in support? It was hard to gauge for me, and it was all just… there was a lot to consider. There was a lot of stuff I’d hear in church or from friends or in general, like, from media or whatever, that made me so afraid of ever telling you. It wasn’t you, it was an unknown that I didn’t want to risk. If I’d come out sooner and you weren’t actually okay with it, I… I didn’t want to know that about you.” 

Clint feels a pang of guilt, but he can understand that. “I feel differently about the people who judged you than I did before.” No names, but they both know the handful in particular of whom it had been disappointing to see their true colors. “That’s not the kind of people I thought they were.” He hums a little, thinking it over. It’s still hard to navigate for him, knowing their judgment had come from a stringent faith that in most other cases was the thing that made them good, decent people, but it’s still not an excuse. He will always put his children first. “What kind of things do you put up with? It hasn’t ever gotten violent, has it?” 

Griffin sighs heavily. “It’s a range of shit, dad. Sometimes it’s little stuff, like small talk always winding up asking me if I have a girlfriend. Not a partner, not a girlfriend _or_ boyfriend, always just girlfriend. And then a lot when I say, no, but I have a boyfriend, it’s either really awkward or my fucking favorite, ‘but you don’t look gay!’ I can’t tell you how often I hear that. At this rate, I’ve started replying with ‘do I look bi?’ and that usually goes over their heads… Pat gets a mix of ‘you don’t look gay’ and ‘I could tell you were gay’, which is maybe shittier? And yeah, that’s just little stupid shit, but it builds up and gets so much more exhausting every time it happens. I got called a faggot a lot when I was living in the dorms at UT and dating guys. Of course hearing the religious bullshit is a constant, and then people trying to backpedal out of any responsibility from it with ‘love the sinner, hate the sin’ and that kind of crap…” He’s getting mad just thinking about it. In the moment, he does his best to let it roll off, but when he’s made to think on it like this and see it all add up, it’s frustrating. “Pat and I get told a lot that ‘there are children here’ when we’re holding hands or whatever in public, and that’s always weird to me. I know where their brains are going, but to leave it just at that and have to extrapolate all the homophobic side-streets it takes to get to why I shouldn’t fucking hold my boyfriend’s hand in public like every other couple--” 

He lets out an aggravated noise. “Those always make me angriest, when it’s stuff about me and Pat together. People can say shit about me, I don’t care, but it really irritates me to death when we’re expected to act differently. And not to mention, if I had seen two guys together as a kid?! Like, for me, as a bi kid that was so fucking unsure of myself, if I had seen a happy queer couple in real life, that would have meant _so fucking much_ to me.” 

“I’m sorry, honey,” Clint almost whispers, feeling like he doesn’t want to know any of this, but knowing he’d rather hear the truth than live in ignorant bliss. “But nothing ever violent?” Clint asks again, hopefully. 

Griffin makes a long, drawn out noise. “I mean… sort of?” He winces when he hears the sound Clint makes, like someone just punched him in the gut. “Nobody’s ever tried to kick my ass or anything, but, I’ve been shoved by the same assholes that called me a fag, been generally intimidated and whatever. And once, when Pat and I were holding hands in Austin, someone yelled at us and threw a full soda cup at us out a car window.” 

He thinks about telling him how he had known someone who was stabbed outside a gay dance club, or the threats Simone sometimes gets, being an outspoken queer public figure, or how the mass shooting a couple years ago had left him shaken and scared for months, but he doesn’t, hearing Clint just shaking his head and apologizing softly that Griffin’s gone through all of this, and Griffin decides he doesn’t need to know any more. There’s a melancholy silence that drags for a while before Clint changes the subject, asking how they’re both doing and what’s up with Pat. 

“We’re good, kinda same ol’ same ol’. Pat likes his internship a lot, and they’ve sooooort of hinted about having a position open soon? But we’ll see.” 

“And that’s with the video game thing, right?” 

Griffin grins. To be perfectly honest, he doesn’t always understand everything Pat talks about in regards to coding and making programs and games, either. “Sort of. It’s a mobile game, like an app, but he’s also working on other apps, mostly troubleshooting and doing updates and stuff. Not exactly what he wants to be doing, long-term, but in the right direction. It’ll look really good on his resume.” 

“How are y’all doing, money-wise? He’s still not working, right?” 

Griffin shrugs. “We’re fine. The house finally sold, so there’s that money to sit on, but he’s only taking a break from working while he’s in school, and this is his last semester.” It had been difficult to explain about the money to his family without revealing too much about Pat’s past. It’s not his place to share that kind of thing, he certainly hadn’t rolled out the whole sordid affair. They know Pat’s parents are both dead, and that his relationship with his mother was traumatic--he wonders if this spells “abuse” to them the way it never had for him, Pat couldn’t believe Griffin hadn’t figured it out before but Griffin supposes he just didn’t want to think about Pat going through that--and that there was a good sum of money out of all of this madness that had ultimately been a very good thing in the end. 

“Are you two looking for a house to buy?” Clint asks with a sneakiness in his voice. 

Griffin huffs, but is smiling. “No, not yet. I don’t think either of us would want to buy a place in LA, anyway.” 

Clint carefully presses more. “Do you ever talk about it? Buying a house? Or… getting married?” 

There it is. Griffin has been waiting for one of them, either his dad or one of his brothers, to finally outright ask him about it. He can tell they’ve been dying to bring it up for a while now, but have restrained themselves so far. “We talk about it, sure,” Griffin offers ambiguously, not specifying. 

“Do you not think you’d _want_ to marry him?” Griffin is surprised by this, but he supposes if they’ve talked about it and haven’t gone through with it yet, he can understand how that might seem like uncertainty. 

“No, I do. I do a lot. And we’ve basically agreed we want to, he’s just not ready yet. He at least wants to finish school first, he wants us to just take our time. He’s told me he wants to be with me, indefinitely, it’s not that, he just doesn’t see why we should rush into getting married.” 

“But you can’t wait, huh?” 

Griffin chuckles. He’s easy to read on the matter. “Yeah, it’s hard being patient. Which is dumb because I don’t think it would really change anything? We’d still be us, we already live together, we’re already disgustingly, madly in love but I… I really really wanna marry that boy, dad.” Below on the street, just as he says this, Pat rides by on his bike. Griffin grins wide and Clint can hear it in his voice. “There he is, speak o’ the devil.” 

Pat stands up on one pedal and throws his leg over the seat, gliding onto the sidewalk and finally hopping down as he reaches the door, pulling it open just as Mama Fu, the top floor tenant and original resident of the building, is shuffling out of the elevator. It’s an unspoken rule in the building that any of the younger residents that catch her bringing in groceries or taking out her trash will help her, and she often gives candies she keeps in her coat as a thank you, or will invite them in for tea. She’s a petite, slight old woman, nearly one hundred, but intimidating in a way that makes Pat admire her. He hopes he’s as feisty and sharp at her age, if he ever even reaches it. A few times, he’s sat in her apartment drinking strong red tea while she smokes a pipe and talks about whatever is on her mind, sometimes rants, sometimes full lessons on traditional Chinese medicine--her father’s trade--and Buddhist philosophy, sometimes just griping about how her grandchildren never come see her. She had become a widow as a young woman, and is a loner by preference, but the few times she invites him to keep her company, Pat always feels honored. 

She presses a wrapped piece of crystallized ginger into his hand as she shuffles out the door, rolling her little shopping dolly behind her. Pat smiles to her and walks his bike inside, hoisting it onto his shoulder and taking the stairs. He has Griffin in his ears. He’s been listening to Griffin’s music a lot lately, but these are some songs just for him. Griffin doesn’t post his voice online with his other work, he’s still unsure of it, and it isn’t the most incredible voice, or the widest range, but Pat adores it. He feels like he can hear Griffin’s soul in the tinny, clear, wavering notes. There are original songs and covers, and little spoken love letters in between, things he’d recorded for Pat while they were apart and Pat had listened to them almost every day, but it had been awhile since he revisted them after Griffin moved here. They’ve been his anchor during this final semester, something he can listen to for a few minutes and be back in a calmer, more stable place. 

He tugs the earbuds out in the middle of a Ben Folds cover, stepping into the apartment and putting his bike away. He can hear Griffin in the bedroom and already, he can tell there are no ‘g’s on the end of his words, and his vowels have gone flat and long. He must be talking to his dad still, the Appalachian drawl sneaking back into his voice, never quite exiled. Pat knows from a what he’s seen in few home movies and public access television gigs Griffin had done as a kid that little Griffin had had a notable West Virginia accent which had been squashed in his teens, but not completely eradicated. Griffin finds it embarrassing, but Pat loves when it get brought out, can always hear it when he sings. 

The cats run up to him, used to getting treats when Pat comes home, and follow him into the bedroom, meowing and winding between his feet. Pat leans down and kisses Griffin softly. “Hey beautiful boy.” Griffin pulls the phone away slightly and smiles up at Pat, who leans a little towards the phone, “Hi, Clint.” From the speaker he hears “heeeeeey, Patrick!” and grins, ruffling Griffin’s hair before heading back towards the kitchen, followed by the eager patter of little paws. “Okay, okay! Who wants crunchies?” He shakes out two small piles of treats on the kitchen floor, rubbing both their heads. 

It’s hot already despite not yet officially being spring and he’s smelling pretty ripe from his ride back from campus. He strips down and takes a quick shower while Griffin is still on the phone, playing more of Griffin’s instrumental tunes while he relaxes under the hot water. One song in particular brings back a very vivid memory. It’s the first song of Griffin’s he’d ever heard and he perfectly remembers that first listen. 

It’s four years ago, four and a half, maybe. Pat and Griffin have been friends for quite a while, and been hanging out outside of work for several weeks, becoming quite close. It’s a slow night at the sports bar Pat waits tables at every Thursday night and Griffin is in a small booth by himself, slowly working his way through a basket of fried pickles and a beer while he listens to music on headphones and reads for class. When Griffin is here, or at Pat’s other server job, a diner across the highway from his motel, it’s like a little island oasis away from customers and stress and putting on a fake smile. Griffin seems to always know the best times to come in, when Pat can actually sit down with him for a few minutes and relax without feeling pressured or like he might get in trouble. 

It’s weird having a good friend. He hasn’t really had one before. He’d been so locked down and controlled that his relationships with most people were restricted to school. Griffin is funny, and smart, and nice, he’s _really, really, genuinely nice_ in a way Pat isn’t used to being treated. He looks out for Pat without prying too much and makes him laugh when he really needs it and on the nights they’re alone sitting in Griffin’s car in some empty parking lot or on Pat’s bed at the motel, when they talk, it feels… real. Pat’s never bonded with a peer like this before. It’s like how Aunt Diane makes him feel in a way, but… different, too. 

Everything is a learning experience for him now, he’s flung himself out of being made totally dependent on Suzanne into complete self-sufficiency. He has no idea what he’s doing, buying groceries, juggling his jobs, scheduling classes, or even making friends, but he just keeps doing them. When in doubt, there’s always the internet to consult, and all things considered, he’s doing pretty well for himself. There’s no WikiHow’s about what to do when you meet someone you feel like you’ve known your whole life, though, or how to tell if you have a crush on your best friend, or when someone is even your best friend? Do you have to ask about that sort of thing, like dating? He’s sure he’s very awkward to Griffin, but it seems to be an endearing quality, because Griffin keeps coming around. 

Pat slides into the booth and steals a fried pickle and a sip of water--his own glass he’s keeping at Griffin’s table for now--and lets out a deep sigh. Griffin looks up from his book and tugs an earbud out. “If it stays this slow, you think they’ll let you off early? I had a lot of coffee earlier and I’m pretty wired, we could go to the arcade?” 

Pat thinks about it for a moment. He needs some sleep, but he always needs sleep and functions anyway. He’d rather be tired like always in class tomorrow and get to spend time with Griffin, maybe even finally kick his ass in Street Fighter. He nods and mumbles, “I’ll ask,” before jutting his chin at Griffin’s earbuds. “What are you listening to?” 

“Oh! Uh…” Griffin blushes. “Something I wrote a few days ago? There’s something not quite right with it, I’m trying to figure out what I need to change.” 

Pat sits up a little. “You write music?” He feels like every new quirk about Griffin is a small, colorful piece of seaglass in his pocket, a trinket to add to his collection of Neat Things About This Guy I Know. Definitely not because he has a crush, of course. “Can I listen?” 

Reluctantly, Griffin quickly wipes off the buds on a napkin and hands them over, starting the song over from the beginning. Pat closes his eyes and listens, not sure what he was expecting. It sounds like something out of a game soundtrack, minimalist synth and repeating themes, but it’s nice. He waits until the song finishes and begins to repeat to hand the earbuds back. “I like it.” From a few tables down, he hears the rattle of ice in an empty cup and rolls his eyes. “One sec…” 

Business picks up just enough to keep Pat busy for a while. Griffin orders another beer and a sandwich to keep his table without getting Pat reprimanded. When Pat flops back down in the booth again, Griffin can tell the older couple across the room is giving him a hard time. He frowns sympathetically and shifts a little in the booth. “You look like you could use a hug. You want a hug?” 

Pat briefly panics. Should he? If Griffin hugs him, will he be able to tell all the confusing thoughts Pat has about him? Will it make it all that much more confusing? But he hasn’t had a hug in a long time. Nodding, he scoots across the bouncy vinyl seat and wraps his arms around Griffin as Griffin tugs him to him. It’s not a brief or stiff hug. Griffin has both arms across Pat’s back, pressing him snuggly against his chest and rubbing slowly. He’s warm and he smells good and Pat rests his cheek on Griffin’s shoulder for a moment, drinking it in. It makes him miss Aunt Diane and her hugs a lot. Griffin doesn’t let go until Pat’s ready, leaning back a little sooner than he wants, feeling like any longer would be weird. Griffin gives him a little smile and his eyes are so kind and so blue. Pat feels suspended for a moment, lifted out of how much his feet hurt and how tired he is, how irritating most of his customers are, how much homework he hasn’t done yet and how fucking scared he is if he stops for two seconds and thinks about it, and smiles back. 

A lot of Griffin’s songs are like this for Pat, little vacuum sealed memories, stored between the notes. When he steps out of the shower, both cats have snuck in, Cecil laying on the closed toilet seat and Charlie sitting on the floor beside the hamper, blinking up at him. He dries down and wraps a towel around his waist, going to the dresser to get some comfy clothes out. Griffin is still on the loveseat but no longer on the phone. He looks up from his book and whistles playfully. Pat grins and flips him off, but takes his time getting dressed after he drops the towel, Griffin laying his book in his lap and admiring him. 

Once dressed, Pat hangs his towel up on the shower curtain rod and grabs his laptop, coming to curl up on the loveseat with a Griffin. “Hey, I wanna ask you something.” 

Griffin closes his book around a piece of junk mail to mark his page, shifting to snuggle closer to Pat. “Yeah, bud?” 

Pat pulls up a short looping animation and maximizes it to full screen. It’s part of the game he’s been working on. Griffin has only seen small glimpses of it so far. The art style is bold and geometric, with flat washes of color in a muted, nocturnal palette. It’s a side-scroller, with a ground straight across with roots visible under the dirt and the occasional animal skull or bone. On the left side is a gently swaying character shaped like a white mushroom with what looks like clouds floating in its cap. The clouds are dark grey, like just before a heavy rain. The environment is a dark, dense forest, with some faint stars twinkling behind the occasional break in the leaves, and bioluminescent creatures or bright eyes flashing now and then. Once in the loop, about thirty seconds long, a wind ripples through the trees and opens up a hole in the canopy to reveal a crescent moon. Griffin stares. “Babe, it’s so pretty.” The more he looks, the more detail he notices. It’s lovely and a little scary all at once, and the wispy mushroom character is intriguing, seeming to float just above the ground, barely touching it with its spindly feet, as if in lunar gravity. He laughs softly, a smile splitting his face. “I really really love this. Is there more?” 

Pat purses his lips, trying not to grin. “Not quite yet. This is the first main level. I’d… I can commission you? But I’d really really like it if you wrote some music for it.” 

Griffin’s heart flops over, he’s so honored and already so in love with this project, so proud of Pat. “You don’t have to pay me.” He wouldn’t dare accept money for this. 

“Well, something? I don’t want you to do it just for free, I’ll probably be really picky.” 

“Do I get anymore information, or is this all I have to go off of?” 

Pat thinks about it, humming. “Go from this for now, and I’ll tell you more as needed?” 

Griffin is grinning again, nodding. “Okay. So if you won’t let me do it for free, how abooout… I dunno, spending the rest of our lives together?” 

Pat wheezes out a laugh. “I dunno, that seems a little steep. I don’t want all of it to feel like it’s an obligation, y’know? How’s just the next ten years sound?” 

Griffin pretends to really hem and haw over it, but he can’t keep the smile off his face. “Okay, it’s a deal.” 

Pat leans in to give him a quick kiss, then lets him know he’s emailing the animation loop over to him. Griffin opens his email on his phone and immediately plays the loop, watching it again, getting a feel for it and letting impressions come to him. Pat closes the laptop and bites his lip, understanding now how Griffin probably feels when Pat reads his writing. It’s nerve-wracking but so rewarding to see that Griffin really does like it, even in such a small portion of the whole. He’ll probably never get used to this, being selflessly and enthusiastically supported, but it’s a nice feeling, all the same. Whenever his confidence wanes and he can’t seem to believe in himself, he knows Griffin believes in him, and it’s always just enough to get him across the gaps. He hopes that when he gets to hear the song, the memory and emotion it brings back is this, heart pounding and throat going tight, overwhelmed with how loved he feels, and what a relief it is to be able to reflect that love back.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is something I've been planning for a while and kept pushing back, but as we're nearly at the end of this fic, this is the perfect spot for it. This giant, dorky, fun chapter is my way of saying _**thank you**_ to everyone who has stuck with it all this way, especially those of you who have left kind and encouraging words. You're the best, basically. So grab some snacks and get comfy and enjoy this nice long haul, and if you're feeling up to it...
> 
>  
> 
> **  
> [I put together a little something as a traveling companion for you.♡](https://open.spotify.com/user/u6fyotg0grh9sgjm5afvkx2ff/playlist/5ld9Yc1PiytFjdjJPda3LD?si=0SqQjx1NQIiNykiwZCAhNw)  
>  **

They’ve been planning this for months. On the flight out to Huntington for Candlenights, Pat and Griffin realized they had never gone away on vacation together, not even for a weekend. They both agree that meeting up in Albuquerque didn’t count. Since December, they have been plotting a route and booking places to stay and thrifting for or arranging to borrow items they will need, splurging only on a few things. Griffin has some vacation days saved, and Pat’s internship has already planned to give him spring break off, leaving them a week together to get away. 

The cats are in good hands with Ashley and Simone to look after them, though Pat in particular has loved up on them extra in the days leading up to their departure. He knows he’s going to miss them, but driving out of LA feels good. The city has gotten claustrophobic for them both and seeing the desert open up in front of them is a relief. They've both really been needing to get away. Pat rolls his window down and puts his feet up on the dash, plugging his phone into the aux cord and putting the playlist they’ve been adding to over the last couple weeks on shuffle. It’s a range of classic rock, infectious pop, old corny classics, and a few songs here and there that remind them of each other. They’re singing loud and obnoxious for lots of them, holding hands or passing snacks back and forth across the center console. 

Griffin drives most of the first day, taking lots of back roads and stopping off in small towns if they spot a nice park or an interesting shop or cafe. The route and schedule they had planned is more a series of anchors, intentionally leaving things open for spontaneous exploration or a day or two simply lounging around together. The small towns nestled between shrubby foothills and looming red rock mountains are a strange mix of hippie chic eco-friendly waypoints and hardscrabble backwater pit stops that are little more than a pawn shop, a gas station, and a biker bar along the highway. They stop for lunch in one of the towns that’s just in between--it reminds Griffin a lot of a miniature west coast Huntington, simple and small and quaint--and they walk around the three-block downtown, slowly strolling it four or five times to hit Pokestops. Griffin wanders off down a narrow road while Pat stops to read the flyers in a coffee shop window, off-the-wall band names with logos Xeroxed into oblivion patchworked in amongst ads for music lessons and private tutors. 

“Babe!” He barely hears Griffin, turning to see his tiny form just before a sharp bend in the road at a church. “Come help me beat this gym!” Pat snorts and jogs down to meet up with Griffin, sitting on the church steps and battling the gym together. It takes some effort and Pat has to bite his lip to contain the goofy smile at Griffin’s comical anger over videogames. Finally victorious, they walk back to the car and continue on towards their destination for the night, stopping a couple times in between for bathroom breaks or to stretch their legs, skirting between desert and mountainous forests, worming up between Death Valley and the long stretch of national forests along California’s eastern border. 

This first stop had been the sketchiest, and they had only chosen it after reading all the positive reviews. They almost drive past it, Griffin having to stomp on the brakes to turn into the dirt path cutting into the woods. Pat hops out and punches the code into the digital lock, walking the gate open and waiting for Griffin to drive through before closing the gate and locking it back. Once Pat’s back in the car, Griffin creeps up the path, easing the car over tree roots and one stubborn stump. There’s something creepy about driving into the trees, growing denser the further they drive, nearly a mile from the main road. The sun is setting and it paints everything stark gold and violet, a blazing orange sun cutting through the trees as they crest a hill and arrive at the campsite, just fifty yards from a drop off that overlooks a grassy clearing. 

They have to work fast to try and get the tent up--Pat had done a couple practice runs at the apartment to be sure he knew how to put it together--having to turn on the car’s headlights to finish, making a pallet of blankets and rolling out one of their splurges, a two-person sleeping bag. Most of the camping gear and road snacks are crammed into the backseat, and the trunk has become their mobile kitchen, with a large cooler and a milk crate of dry goods, along with some cookware. Griffin takes a flashlight to dig out the subs he’d made that morning and a bag of chips, along with some sodas, carrying them to the tent as Pat is hanging up some battery-powered fairy lights around the inside. They do a quick double-check that they have everything they’ll need for the night, closing up the car, before having a late dinner on top of the blankets in the tent, lit by an LED lantern. 

“It’s not as creepy as I thought it would be,” Pat muses, crunching a chip. The song of insects a is soft, musical hum around them and the dark woods don’t feel quite as ominous now as they had driving in. It’s still a _little_ scary, but he doesn’t want to admit it. After they eat, Pat takes the lantern and leads Griffin carefully along a short game trail to the main reason they had decided to reserve this place: a large, flat, smooth stone that juts from a steep cliff’s edge about seventy-five feet above a flat, grassy expanse below. 

It’s very dark, with no moon, and they help each other spread out a blanket and stretch out, turning out the light. It takes some time for their eyes to adjust, more stars seeming to melt out of the darkness as they watch, the Milky Way glowing steadily brighter until its faint haze is an evident, clouded streak across the sky. On the far horizon, a band of dark clouds obscures some lower constellations and as they lay and watch the sky, lightning in the distance spreads out like fingers. Pat sits up a little, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It’s not supposed to rain until tomorrow… does that look like it’s heading this way? We didn’t put the rain tarp up on the tent…” 

Griffin squints and watches the storm for a little while. “No, it looks like it’s moving south. We should put the tarp up when we get back, though, just in case.” Not worried about it, he tugs Pat back down onto the blanket. Pat shifts and lays his head on Griffin’s shoulder, squeezing when Griffin reaches to hold his hand. “Where’s Aries?” 

“It’s not up.” 

“It’s not?” Griffin sounds disappointed, as if he feels like the night sky ripped him off. 

Pat smirks. “No, that’s--so your sun sign is Aries, because the sun was _in_ Aries when you were born. So it’s up during the day this time of year.” 

“Oh…” He falls silent for a minute and then lets go of Pat’s hand briefly to point. “Well what’s that?” 

“That big bright one?” There’s a steady, very bright, vaguely yellow-hued object near zenith. “I think it’s Jupiter? I’m not sure. It looks like a planet. Gosh, we should have found a telescope to bring…” 

“Travis had one when we were kids. It wasn’t very good, but we had fun looking at the moon.” Griffin’s hand is back in Pat’s, absently petting each other’s fingers. 

“Uncle Ron has a really nice one, it’s wild seeing planets through it. It makes it… I dunno, do you ever look up and know we’re moving, not the sky, and that there are big giant fucking things up there, but it feels like they’re just… dots? Like, the illusion of looking up at a dome and not out into the universe is hard to look past sometimes, yeah?” 

Griffin hums, “yeah.” 

“Something about seeing it through a telescope made it feel really really real. Like, to look at it with the naked eye and it could just be another star billions of miles away, and then see it closer and it’s round, and there’s color variance, and the shadow of a moon… wherever we live next, I want a telescope, and a decent night sky.” 

Griffin smiles and turns his head to nuzzle his nose against Pat’s hair, kissing his brow. “Mm, that sounds nice, I can get on board with that.” They’ve only talked a little about what happens after LA, playing it by ear for now, but Griffin sometimes imagines them in the future, five or ten years along, in a house, sometimes modern and chic, sometimes quaint and cozy, on a street in a quiet neighborhood or just a few blocks from a city’s downtown, but now he imagines a modest house with high ceilings and large windows surrounded by woods, maybe by a creek or on a hill, and a big deck or patio where he and Pat sip wine and find planets through a telescope. He comes back to the present, but saves the thought for later, kissing Pat’s head again and peppering a few a bit further down until they’ve both abandoned the stars and are kissing, Pat rolling and pressing himself against Griffin, one hand tugging Griffin’s arm around his waist and the other cupping Griffin’s cheek, sliding up into his short hair. 

Griffin has a thigh shoved between Pat’s legs, grinding his hips in tiny, almost subconscious movements and Pat is sucking in air between kisses, breathless but unwilling to break away just yet, when the sharp howl of a coyote startles them from somewhere below in the clearing, and another joins it, and another, echoing up the cliff and around the trees. They pull back and stare at each other, wide-eyed, and wordlessly agree it’s time to go back to the tent. 

Pat grabs the blanket and Griffin turns the lantern back on, leading Pat by the hand. The coyotes are still screeching into the night but it sounds much more distant now, but they’ve killed the mood, and it’s much later than either of them realized. They change into some warm, comfortable clothes to sleep in and snuggle into the sleeping bag with a few extra blankets just in case, spotting each other’s faces with little kisses now and again until they’ve fallen asleep. 

When Pat wakes up, it’s still dark outside the tent, but from the sound of the birds that woke him, it must be close to sunrise. He fits himself tighter against Griffin’s back and gently rubs at his hair, kissing the edge of his jaw and trying to syphon some more sleep off him, but his brain is awake and not having it. Griffin stirs just a little and rolls to smile at him, sharing a brief kiss, but he’s quickly asleep again. The darkness outside the tent’s mesh windows grows a little brighter, a grey half-haze, and Pat can just barely make out the profile of Griffin’s nose, imaging the familiar fringe of eyelashes against his cheek and his slack, sleeping face. Pat has always thought Griffin is most beautiful when he’s asleep, completely serene. 

Accepting that he isn’t going to get any more rest, Pat carefully crawls out of the sleeping bag, gently tucking his blanket, warmed by his body heat, up against Griffin’s back so he doesn’t get cold in his absence. Tugging on his shoes and a jacket, he quietly unzips the tent and slips out, zipping it back, and turns the lantern on its lowest setting, wandering off to find a tree to piss. The birds go quiet for a while at first, but as he goes about his business, not making too much of a ruckus, they return in hesitant trust. As it gets lighter, Pat discovers there’s a substantial-sized bird feeder set up near the campsite, with a split-log bench near it. Morning light feels so much different than seeing the forest at dusk, now a nice little haven, with happily chirping birds visiting by the droves. 

When Griffin finally wakes up a bit later, he’s initially disoriented to find himself alone. Sitting up, he rubs his face and feels around for his glasses, putting them on and trying to get his sleep-fogged brain to cooperate with him in the dim morning light to put on shoes and go find Pat. Stepping out of the tent, he looks around, but sees no sign of him. He stands still and listens, but still nothing. His heart lurches for half a second and he calls out tentatively, “Pat?”, and sighs in relief to hear a faint, “out here!” from near the overhang. He crunches through the leaves and dry pine needles along the narrow deer trail, arms crossed to keep warm in the cool, crisp air. When he makes it to the rock, Pat already has the butane hot plate out and a pot of coffee brewing. 

Griffin sits down beside him and leans into a kiss, staying pressed against Pat’s warm side and basking in the snuggles Pat offers, purring softly under his breath. Pat smiles and rubs a hand up and down his arm, the other playing with his hair. “Did you sleep good?” 

Griffin nods and makes a wordless noise of affirmation. “Did you?” 

Pat shrugs. “It was okay. I had weird dreams about meteors hitting the earth and lightning storms.” They’d gotten lucky that the storm had indeed moved south, as they had forgotten to put up the rain tarp on the tent after all. The sky is a hazy low blanket of clouds and it smells of rain, but the thickest of it is moving out from them, the sun cutting in bright gold and white bands through the breaks in the clouds to the east. Pat pours them both a cup of coffee in a pair of thrifted tin mugs and they sit together watching the sunlight illuminate the landscape beneath them. 

After some coffee, Griffin finally feels warm and awake, walking back to the car to put up the hot plate and brings back some bananas and granola bars for breakfast. They eat while they split up the chores of packing the car, heading back to the tent to get started with loading out. Pat puts their banana peels near the bird feeder and realizes there is another small feeder nearby, and a bird bath, and a few small birdhouses, all freshly stocked. It’s a cute addition to the campsite and makes the sketchiness of a rentable plot of woods much less creepy. 

Griffin puts away all the bedding while Pat breaks down the tent, stuffing everything into the backseat. They pass a bottle of mouthwash between them and brush their teeth, spitting into the leaves, kicking some dirt over it when they’re done. Pat walks the campsite one last time to make sure they aren’t leaving any trash, and they take a selfie together at the overhang before finally heading on to their next stop. Pat drives while Griffin navigates. The playlist hits some of the lesbian anthems Pat had been introduced to riding around with Simone and Griffin switches it over to a full Melissa Etheridge album for a while. Griffin has to Google at one point, musing to himself, “shit, these are some deep-in-the-closet feels… didn’t she come out after this album?” 

Wikipedia confirms the artist had come out before the release of the album they’re currently blasting, but there’s still a lot in the lyrics that kicks him right in the ribs. He reaches to the turn the volume down a little to speak over the music. “When did you first come out?” 

Pat is a little caught off guard by the question, thinking about it. “I dunno. Fifteen? I told Aunt Diane. She kind of already knew. I got made fun of for being gay way before I figured it out, though, so I guess I never really felt closeted? Once I knew, it just sort of felt like, okay, I’m queer. I never really tried to hide it or anything. Why? When’s the first time you told anybody?” 

Griffin thinks on it a little. “I mean, Travis found out, but the first person I ever told was my high school girlfriend. I didn’t _want_ to be gay, and it was such an untouched subject, the concept of being bi didn’t even occur to me for a while, like… I _cried_ when I told her I thought I might be attracted to guys, and she sort of rationalized it that if we were having sex and I enjoyed it then maybe I wasn’t really gay. I mean, Sam and I were like sixteen at this point, we didn’t know shit, we’d both grown up in really sheltered, Christian families. I talked about it really covertly with my mom once, just… about being scared I wasn’t living up to what God wanted from me, and of course she was amazing and made me feel so much better and never asked what I was really talking about, but, I think she knew.” 

Pat briefly looks over at Griffin, not sure what to say. There’s stuff there they know in synopsis about each other, but haven’t dredged up in detail. “I never knew you felt that way.” 

Griffin lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh my god, I was such a naive, good little Baptist for the longest time. I was _ashamed_ for most of my teens, because the only opinion one way or the other about being queer I’d ever really encountered was always awful and negative. There was this guy, though… my junior year, he moved from Boston, and he was instantly a target, like… _exuberantly_ gay, and I wanted to be him and was so jealous of him being able to, like… inhabit himself? He was the first guy I ever kissed.” Pat chuckles softly, but Griffin only has a sad smile. “It was amazing, because in my head, he was this fabulous, worldly, incredible being that was kissing _me_ , and it felt so good, and in the same moment, I was fucking _devastated_ , because I knew for sure that I wasn’t straight, and I couldn’t change that, and I had to deal with it, and all that felt like to me still was being wrong.” 

Griffin stops for a while and rubs the back of his head. Pat reaches over and squeezes his knee and Griffin lays a hand down over it. “I made fun of him after that, with everyone else. And we still made out a few times after that! But I was so afraid that if anyone saw me being anything but antagonistic towards him, they would know. That was all of high school for me, being fucking terrified that everyone would find out. I was such an asshole to him, even though he was… like this big part of my life? He was the first openly gay person I’d ever met and known and that was fucking life changing for me. We weren’t even that close, just him existing so honestly was a fucking revelation.” 

The album stops and the silence feels cleansing. Pat holds Griffin’s hand for a while and lets him sit in whatever he’s needing to process right now until he feels it’s okay to talk again. “I’m sorry you ever felt like you were wrong or broken for being who you are, and I’m glad you don’t feel that way anymore. I think I understand the vicarious sense of freedom? My manager at my first job was a drag queen on the side and he was the most flamboyant and unapologetic person. He would tease me about being sort of femme and awkward and rag on me when he could tell I thought a guy was cute, but it was all really… affectionate? I felt seen without that feeling like it made me a target. He was my first exposure to what queer adulthood looked like. It was nice.” Griffin nods and Pat can tell he’s still bummed out. “Have you ever sought that guy out, to apologize?” 

Griffin shakes his head. “No, but… we’re Facebook friends. We never actually talk, though.” 

“You should message him. Make amends. It might have meant nothing to him, but it will help you feel better.” 

Griffin thinks about it for a while and pulls out his phone, composing a long private message that he takes longer editing and paring down than he had actually writing it. Pat finds a classical station to listen to softly and waits until Griffin is done, letting him put on some Carly Rae to bring the mood back up, opening the sunroof to let in the warm, fresh air. 

They stop in a fairly large town for lunch and to gas up the car. They’re about an hour away from their next stop, just outside Yosemite. They’ll spend the night in a small cabin, then head into the park in the morning. As they are pulling out of the shopping center and heading back towards more rural roads, Pat notices a sign and hangs a tight u-turn. Griffin isn’t paying attention and looks around wildly. “What, what?!” 

When Pat follows the next sign, Griffin laughs. 

**_U-Pick Strawberries, 2 Miles_**

Strawberry season has just started and Pat is like a man possessed for the freshest and ripest. The road up to the small farm winds down past a large butte and suddenly there are rows and rows of little red-dotted plants. Pat pulls into a spot in the grass and they walk together towards the field. A stack of baskets sits under a sign with the prices and rules and Pat grabs a large basket and starts down a row with Griffin, picking and filling up the basket, occasionally sneaking a berry fresh off the vine. They’re perfectly ripe, still a little tart and firm, and warm from the sun. Pat hates artificial strawberry flavor, but he could eat himself sick on the real thing. 

Most of the bushes nearest to the parking lot have been picked fairly clean, so they walk way off into the back field where large berries are still abundant among the leaves. There are two adult cats and a dozen kittens darting between the field and a small greenhouse at the back of the property, and Griffin tries to call one of them over to no avail. Pat attracts three of the kittens without even trying, distracted by finding the perfect strawberries until he realizes there are tiny claws trying to hook into his shoelaces. He puts the basket down and he and Griffin pet and coo over the kittens until a mama cat comes and rounds them up, carrying the littlest one off in her mouth. 

Pat loads up his basket until he can’t balance anymore on the overflowing pile and hooks his arm in Griffin’s as they walk back towards the little market stand by the grass parking lot to pay. He gets a jar of strawberry jam, as well, and Griffin gets a bag of candied pecans, stuffing their change into the tip jar and carrying their spoils back to the car, finding a spot in the trunk to nestle the basket so it doesn’t slide around or topple over. Pat grabs a handful of strawberries before closing the trunk and eats them, greens and all, before he even cranks the engine. 

Griffin navigates from the strawberry patch to the small fishing cabin, a tiny shack on the bend of a river. There are a few other cabins spotted along the road, but far enough apart to maintain the illusion of solitude. They find the key where they’d been told it would be, hidden under a garden gnome at the back of the cabin, and let themselves in. It’s a small, wooden box of a house, but there’s a kitchen and a working bathroom that looks clean enough and a little back porch with a swing. They start unloading their things from the car and Pat sits down on the bed, letting out a shout as it sags nearly to the floor under him, throwing him on his back, the bedframe making a terrible racket of screaming rusted metal and ancient springs. Pat looks at Griffin, comically terrified. “...you wanna sleep in the tent tonight?” 

Griffin knows he isn’t even going to _try_ to sleep on that monstrosity. “Yup.” 

“I’ll go set it up,” Pat says quietly, like he’s afraid being too loud will completely collapse the bed. He carefully gets off of it, the sound now almost worse as the bed shifts back into a neutral position, and he goes to carry the tent around to the river bank and start putting it together. It’s warmer here than it had been in the woods last night and while the cabin itself leaves a lot to be desired, the land around it is lovely. Here behind the little shack, there is a freshly mowed gentle slope of grass down to a small sandy bank, with lilies and irises planted along each side of the sloped yard, newly in bloom and fragrant. 

Griffin is in the bathroom when Pat returns to the tent, so he goes about making up the sleeping bag and such in the tent while he waits for him, laying out one of the flannel sheets in the grass. By the time Griffin is coming out of the cabin, down the rickety steps off the back porch, Pat has his shirt and shoes off, pant legs rolled up to his knees, standing ankle-deep in the river will sipping a beer. He’s brought the smaller cooler down with some beers and sodas, and his basket of strawberries, setting them out on the sheet in the grass. He turns towards Griffin just as Griffin has his phone out to snap a photo, catching Pat’s smile for him in time before Pat scoffs at him. “Don’t, come on.” 

Griffin pouts. “Why? You look fantastic. This might be my new lock screen.” 

“Don’t!” Pat protests, but it’s playful, kicking a splash of water towards Griffin and missing by a mile. “It’s really warm,” he comments, moving a little deeper into the water. 

“I wish we’d thought to bring swim trunks.” Griffin sits down on the sheet and opens a beer of his own, watching Pat walk back towards him. 

“Why? We don’t need them.” He drains the last of the bottle and sets it down in the grass by the cooler, taking his phone out of his pocket before he shucks his jeans off, boxers and all, giving Griffin a coy smile before walking back the river’s edge, wading out deeper. The river bends around them at this spot, eddying into a still pool by the sandy bank, but on the far side of the river, in the crook of the bend and divided from the pool by large, smooth stones, the water is moving much faster. Pat crosses the pool, the deepest point coming up to his chest, discovering that it gets much colder the closer he gets to the moving water. Here in the eddy, though, the water has a chance to sit and be warmed by the sun, and it’s pleasant and refreshing. 

He turns back to coax Griffin in with him, but Griffin is already stripping down and heading towards him. Pat waits for him at the deep part of the pool, reaching out as Griffin is in arm’s reach and tugging him towards himself, into a kiss. Griffin makes a little chirp as he’s pulled through the water, smiling against Pat’s mouth and pressing himself up against Pat’s warm, smooth skin. He’s still got his beer in his hand and the cold glass touches Pat’s back as Griffin puts his arms around him, making Pat gasp and arch into Griffin to get away from the icy shock. 

Griffin hadn’t meant to do it, but Pat’s reaction has him testing a theory, bringing the cold bottle to slide up the side of Pat’s neck. He gasps again but there’s something under it that Griffin knows very well, laughing softly to himself as Pat shoots him a look from under his lashes, telling him to cut it out. Griffin finishes the beer and turns to chuck the bottle back towards shore, landing it in the sand to pick up later. Before he can turn around, Pat is up against his back, lips fastening over his jugular and hands squeezing at his stomach, working down, trailing between his thighs. Griffin laughs and leans his head to encourage Pat, reaching up to cup the back of Pat’s head, loosely gripping his hair. His other hand goes down to one of Pat’s wrists, making no mystery of what he wants, guiding Pat’s long fingers around his cock. He was half-hard before just from watching Pat strip, but the attention at his neck is all he needed to get all the way there. 

Pat doesn’t bother teasing him, stroking him with a firm hand, sucking harder at his throat until Griffin starts to whine. Pat eases up for a moment, jerking him off a little faster, his own dick rutting against the top of Griffin’s ass, before he bites down on Griffin’s shoulder. Reflex brings Griffin’s elbow back into Pat’s ribs, breaking them apart, and he spins in the water to apologize, but Pat his laughing, rubbing the spot and reaching to pull Griffin to him again. He kisses Griffin roughly and grabs his hips for purchase, grinding against him. Griffin melts into him, holding onto his biceps and gladly letting Pat do all the work. Feeling Pat move against him in water is a new sensation that he likes quite a lot and there’s a little exhibitionism doing it here in nature, despite there being little likelihood that anyone would find them. When Pat isn’t kissing him, Griffin is panting and moaning, letting out a loud sound of pleasure that carries across the water when Pat wraps a long, slender hand around both of them and strokes with purpose. 

Griffin is squeezing onto Pat’s arms now, thrusting up against him in time to his strokes, panting into his mouth. “Baby, I love you so much, fuckI’mgonnacum,” all rushes out of him at once and Pat his giggling against his throat as Griffin loses it, clutching onto Pat and letting out a strained moan, his body going tense and still while Pat continues to jerk them both off, working himself to the edge. Griffin is jelly in his arms now and Pat hugs onto him tightly, unabashedly rutting against Griffin’s hip to find his end, growling in Griffin’s ear. The hot air against his skin has Griffin mewling softly, petting Pat’s hair as he cums, all flush-faced and glassy-eyed. 

There isn’t much a current, the thready mess of their spunk drifting off slowly down the river. Pat doesn’t let go of Griffin, hugging onto him for several minutes after, kissing lazily, murmuring softly to each other. Griffin’s fog of afterglow finally clears and he smiles up at Pat, pushing his dark hair out of his face. “Haven’t seen that side of you in a while…” 

Pat shrugs, kissing Griffin’s chin. “Maybe I have a sex-outdoors kink?” He’s half-joking, but the sense of being alone together in such a nice, natural setting is romantic and freeing, making him feel spontaneous. Griffin kisses him again before letting himself fall backwards, floating off on his back, drifting in the pool. Pat swims over near him and mimics him, looking up at the bright blue sky framed by the trees hanging over the river on either side. A breeze picks up and persists long enough to make him cold and he shifts back to standing in the water where it’s a little warmer, considering getting out and drying off when he notices that some pale pink blossoms have been blown loose from a tree above them and are drifting around Griffin’s head, still on his back on the surface, eyes closed serenely. 

Pat moves a hand under him to make a current in the water, pulling more petals toward Griffin. Pat thinks he looks like a Renaissance painting, committing him in this moment to memory before placing one hand gently at the back of his head, another against his cheek, and leaning to kiss him. Griffin smiles under his lips, having to stay relaxed or else shift awkwardly into the water and sink, opening his eyes to look up at Pat when he pulls away. “What was that for?” 

Pat rubs a thumb against Griffin’s jaw, shrugging. “Because you’re gorgeous and I love you.” 

Griffin blushes a deep shade of red, moving to stand and throwing his arms around Pat’s shoulders, giving him a proper kiss. “I love you, too, bud.” 

They eventually make it back to the blanket in the grass, laying out next to each other and snacking on strawberries, watching puffy white clouds float across the sky and chatting idly about whatever comes to mind. They don’t bother putting clothes back on, and as used to each other’s bodies as they are, there’s a novelty to seeing one another outside in the buff, feeling fresh air against their skin. 

They take some time to make sure they have a solid plan for the morning. They will have to leave quite early to make it into the park and get hiking with plenty of time to reach the campsite and set up the tent. They make a list of the bare essentials to pack, having to carry everything they’ll need up and over a mountain, and back again through the valley the next day to return to the car. Once they feel they’ve got a solid plan, Griffin goes back into the cabin to start preheating the tiny oven to make some frozen pizza rolls while Pat goes to the car to get one of the pre-rolled joints they had brought along for the trip, along with a stick of incense of the glove box, sticking it in the dirt next to the blanket and letting the intoxicating perfumed smoke drift over them. 

As the sun is setting, they’re good and stoned and sharing a plate piled high with greasy treats, somehow on the subject of ghosts and cryptids. Neither of them believe in such nonsense, but Pat reluctantly admits that he must on some level, because he’s also afraid of them. Griffin laughs at him, but Pat is certainly in on the joke, though it’s both of them that startle when a twig snaps loudly off in the brush to their left. There is a tense, breath-held moment as they wait to see if another noise follows, then a second, more intense spike of fear as it does, only to fall into laughter as several deer run out between some azalea bushes and off down the river bank. 

Pat stays where he’d slumped over laughing against Griffin, nuzzling into his skin, feeling silly they’d been spooked by nothing more than deer. The nuzzling is innocent enough at first, squeezing Griffin’s squishy sides, kissing his tummy, tracing over his stretchmarks which he aggressively loves to balance out how much Griffin hates them. Griffin lays back and soaks up all the doting, a little overwhelmed by it, but the soft, sweet tone changes quickly when Pat crawls up to kiss his mouth. Pressed together like this, the warm fuzzy body high quickly gets them both very horny again, and somehow kisses turn into Pat on his back with both wrists pinned down over his head, Griffin’s other hand fingering him expertly, making him pant and squirm. He doesn’t even know where the lube came from, did they have it in the tent? It doesn’t matter, he can’t think about anything for much longer than a few seconds with Griffin’s fingers working him open and making him feel like he’s going to melt through the blanket down into the earth. 

On his knees now, hands gripping into the grass, Pat throws his weight back into Griffin’s thrusts enthusiastically. Off in the distance, they hear a truck pass the cabin on the road and pull into the next cabin down, the sharp concussion of a car door slamming carrying through the trees, but it’s only a brief break in the illusion that they are alone in their own private paradise and Pat is getting quite loud. It’s making Griffin laugh, but it’s also fueling his lust. Pat with just a little loosening on his inhibitions--a couple drinks, a joint--makes the most incredible sounds, and the best are always when Griffin is inside him. 

They wear each other out in the grass and the exertion has cleared their heads. It’s very nearly full dark now and Pat is a groggy form of giddy, unable to wipe the dopey grin off his face, cuddling up against Griffin’s side. They indulge in each other’s touch a while longer as they watch the slim crescent of a moon chase the sun down below the horizon and the stars come out in all their glory. At last, they start to clean up under the light of their lantern, turning the porch light on from the cabin to help see. There is a line strung up between two pines that Pat hangs the flannel sheet on to dry, still damp from their wet bodies and the damp earth, and Griffin moves the food and trash inside. 

They take turns showering in the tiny bathroom and by the time Pat is clean and dressed in fresh, loose clothes, Griffin is already asleep, curled up in the sleeping bag with his glasses still on and his phone in hand. He’d tried to wait for Pat, but sleep had won out. Pat leans to kiss his brow and carefully takes his glasses off him, setting them aside, and turns out the twinkling lights strung up inside the tent before crawling into the sleeping bag next to Griffin and closing his eyes, letting the soft sounds of the night around them lull him to sleep. 

They’re packed and leaving the cabin almost before sunrise. They’d already crammed everything they’ll need for their mountain trek into two big hiking packs before leaving so there’s no pressure to have to do it in the parking lot once they’re in Yosemite. Pat is driving again and the road up into the park is distracting, a new enormous beauty rising up out of the earth at every bend. He’s never seen trees so big in his life and it’s hard not to pull off now and go walk through what seems almost like a prehistoric landscape, oversized, wild, and dense. 

They arrive at the trailhead at the south side of the valley and the parking lot is full of RVs and cars with kids running around. It feels like summer in a way until they step out of the car and a cool breeze reminds them it’s still early April. They’re dressed in light layers and had made sure to find good hiking boots, already broken in from a few short hikes closer to LA, and Pat is bursting with excitement. The view from the base camp here is unreal. Half Dome and Clouds Rest in the distance up the valley are larger than he can comprehend, the stretch of meadow around the parking lot dotted with wildflowers made to feel absurdly small next to such giants. The day is perfect, not too hot with just enough clouds to break up the sun, big shadows moving across the valley as they float through a vibrant azure sky. 

They double-check their packing one last time and sit in the parking lot to put on sunscreen and hats. Griffin rolls a bandana and ties it around his neck while Pat pulls out the map and his ID to go check in at the ranger station. They had researched this stop the most extensively to ensure they had the best opportunity for a smooth trip. They had managed to reserve a campsite on the far side of Sentinel Dome and parking here at the main valley camp, and Pat had meticulously compared trails and stitched together a route for them that would lead them over Sentinel Dome, down to camp, then back around the mountain the next day on the opposite side, into the valley, to return to the car. 

They fill up their water bottles with clean, cold water at the visitors station and indulge in a planned splurge, each picking a wooden walking stick from the store. Griffin’s is cedar with a little bark left on it towards its tip with a smooth-sanded grip. Pat’s is hickory with a natural twist in the wood that perfectly fits his hand, and a large knob at the top. Griffin hits the restroom while Pat waits in line to pay and check in, and returns just as the smiley, friendly, middle-aged ranger is handing Pat back a numbered tag for the campsite and an additional map, telling him in a sing-songy voice, “Thanks for coming to see, be safe out there, Avery!” 

Pat smiles back at her and moves to let the next visitor step up to the desk, clipping the tag to his pack. Griffin takes his walking stick back from Pat and shakes his head. “It’s weird hearing people call you that.” 

Pat laughs and shrugs. “I’m used to it. First day of class, every time. Maybe if I change my name when we get married, I can get away with swapping the first and middle.” 

Griffin blushes and grins. _When_ they get married, not if. 

The first mile or two of the trail is rolling hills and small waterfalls, winding between forest and meadow. There are other hikers fairly often along the trail, especially playing in the water wherever the trail skirts along the river--Griffin wets his bandana in the icy water and ties it back on to keep himself cool--but they pass other people less and less as they near Sentinel Dome. Pat can’t help himself from reaching out and touching flowers or rubbing a bit of fir needles between his fingers and smelling plants, stopping a few times to watch a bug crawl through the leaves or a chipmunk going about its little chipmunk day. Griffin has a digital camera out and snaps photos as the mood strikes, mostly of Pat. When Pat starts to notice, he takes the camera away and points it back at Griffin, both of them finally forming a truce and getting a few good ones of them together before the camera goes back in Griffin’s pack and they begin to ascend the mountain. 

The first part isn’t so bad, climbing up through dense woods on a dirt path. It’s shaded and cool and there are enough sections that level out to recover when the climb becomes more difficult. The higher they climb, the rockier the path gets, with large boulders spotting the woods around them and less and less trees. They stop and climb on top of a large rock for a short water break and from the rock, looking back down the mountain feels victorious. It doesn’t feel like they’ve climbed as much as they really have. Pat’s been babbling about plants the whole way up, still unable to keep his hands to himself, gently rubbing leaves and touching tree trunks, one of which he discovers smells like butterscotch. Griffin is skeptical until he has a sniff for himself. It’s cute watching Pat geek out about nature, having a strong reminder of how in love he is when Pat finds a chubby caterpillar and carries it with him for a while, naming it Fuzz Muffin, before finding a nice flowering tree to leave it on. 

They’ve stopped again for just a moment to rest and Pat is taking pictures of mushrooms on his phone. Griffin drops his pack and sits on a log, watching him. “Did you ever do scouts as a kid? I wonder if they do a grown-up version, we should find you one.” 

Pat scoffs, eyeing a cedar near Griffin and taking off his pack, starting to climb it. The branches are thick and close together and easy to wind up through. “Suzanne only ever let me out of her sight for school, I barely got to go _outside_ as a kid. Aunt Diane knows a lot about nature, though, like trees and when the deer are mating or growing antlers and stuff. We used to walk through the woods behind her house a lot when I lived with her. ...I’m not really sure, we never talked about it, but I think Aunt Diane is a witch?” Being in LA has introduced him to a lot of occult and esoteric practices and many of them feel familiar to Aunt Diane’s ways of thinking and little things like the three pennies she keeps under the welcome mat on the front porch or how she always knew what the moon’s phase was without having to look or even think about it for very long. 

Griffin isn’t all that surprised to hear Pat’s suspicions, either, something about it just makes sense, but before he can comment, Pat gasps, leaning over a branch to look down at Griffin and hisses in a whisper, “Griffy!” Griffin looks up and catches the most brilliant smile. “There’s baby birds!” 

Pat balances himself on two different branches and pulls his phone out of his pocket to take a picture. Griffin’s stomach jumps up into his throat and he groans seeing Pat so high up without holding onto anything. “Babe, please be careful… Don’t mess with ‘em, okay?” 

“I’m not, I’m not, I just want a picture…” Very carefully, Pat sneaks as close as he can with the phone and snaps a few photos and a short video, putting his phone back in his pocket and climbing back down to show Griffin, his hands sticky with sap. It’s admittedly very cute, and the photos Pat had gotten of the view from up in the tree are stunning and give Griffin a little jolt of energy to see the full panoramic scene from the summit. They pull their heavy packs back on and continue up the mountain. 

It’s the second half that really starts to dig its claws in. The sun has been climbing the sky with them and as they hike out of tree cover, it’s uncomfortably hot, with the rocks around them are reflecting the heat back. The trail from here to the summit is a consistent, lung-busting climb, and a mix of the heat, exertion, and altitude are getting to Griffin. He’s grumpy and gasping, sore and even a little lightheaded at times. Pat makes him stop and hydrate several times, but Griffin is quickly wearing down and becoming irritable as the summit teases them, so close but so far. Pat is a little ahead when he finally crests the top ridge through a thin band of fir trees and can see the peak, they’re so close. 

He turns back and sees Griffin trudging up behind him, gasping and red-faced. “You can do it, baby, we’re almost there! I can see the top!” Griffin doesn’t give any sort of response, really leaning into his walking stick, hunched over and trying to use the weight of the pack for momentum, but it’s only dragging him down. Pat’s honestly a little worried about him, but they’ve made good time and are almost to the top where they can rest and have lunch for an hour or two if they want before hiking down the back side of the dome. 

Griffin stops and wobbles a little, pulling the edge of his t-shirt up the wipe his face, and can’t quite make himself take another step when he wants to, moving to lift his foot but not having quite enough strength in him to do it, leaning on the walking stick with both hands and trying like hell to make himself move. Pat frowns and drops his pack, scrambling back down to Griffin and taking his bag from him. Griffin tries to protest but Pat shuts him up quickly, making sure he’s okay before hooking an arm in Griffin’s and encouraging him the last bit of the way up. When Griffin sees the top, too, it feels doable. He takes a minute to catch his breath and takes his pack back from Pat, stealing a little kiss to perk himself up, and they scale the last bit of the rocky climb together. 

The top is worth it the moment they reach it. A cooling breeze soothes them and a cloud shades the sun just as they walk out onto the flat top of the dome, and in any direction, they can see for what feels like forever. The landscape is surreally beautiful and they spend a good minute or two just spinning in a slow circle, looking at everything. There are a few other hikers here at the top and Pat takes Griffin’s hand over to a spot where they can sit and look up the valley, a towering waterfall in the distance shimmering in the sunlight. Griffin leans back on his pack and Pat pours some water onto his hand, touching it to Griffin’s neck and face to cool him down, taking off his bandana and rewetting it before tying it back on him. 

Griffin rests for a while against his pack with his eyes closed and lets Pat worry over him. Sitting down and being still feels extremely good right now, and he takes his time to rest and get his pulse and breathing back to normal. Once he feels a little more even, he opens his eyes again and sits up, slipping the shoulder straps of his pack off, and looks around again, catching sight of an eagle riding an updraft. “Wow…” 

Pat hums a little laugh. “Yeah…” He leans in and brushes his nose against Griffin’s cheek, Griffin nuzzling towards him and turning for a kiss. Pat cuddles on him for a moment before breaking away to dig out their lunch from his bag. Griffin had thrown together some hummus wraps that morning, packed with veggies and rolled tightly in parchment paper to keep them together, tucked into a lunch box with some chips and strawberries. He also pulls out a big bottle of Gatorade, one of two they had stuck in the freezer at the cabin overnight. It’s still cold and he hands it to Griffin who downs half of it in one go. Neither of them had felt all that hungry, but their bodies react to the food like they’d been starving, leaving them a little groggy but happy when their lunch is finished, stowing the trash away in the lunchbox and sharing a chocolate chip cookie dough protein bar as a dessert. 

Griffin feels more like a functioning human being once the food settles and he’s had some time to rest, getting up to walk around the top of the dome and take some pictures. Pat trails after him and they squeeze together to take a photo, getting one with a kiss. There are more clouds now and it’s beginning to cool off, or so it feels. Griffin’s not sure if it’s the actual temperature of just his body coming back from nearly overheating. He finally feels like he’s fine to move on, both of them getting their things together and heading down to the backside trail. 

The steep descent is rough on their knees, but like coming up, once they are beyond the bare rocky upper portion of the dome, it’s much easier to manage. They make it down in almost half the time it had taken to get up, and hike another three miles to the campsite. Griffin’s still a little woozy and sore as hell. Pat thinks it’s a combination of dehydration and mild altitude sickness, making him relax and hydrate while Pat puts up the tent. Griffin tries to insist that he can help, he doesn’t want Pat to have to do it all by himself, but he doesn’t have a lot of energy to argue. Once the tent is set up, the sleeping bag and their packs inside, Pat sits down in the tent’s opening with Griffin and pulls his boots off for him, peeling off his socks and rubbing his ankles and calves. 

Griffin lays back in the tent and groans. “You’re the best boyfriend ever,” he sighs, rubbing Pat’s back while Pat massages his sore muscles. 

Pat snorts, digging his thumbs into Griffin’s tight quads to make them loosen up. “You’re just lucky I love you.” 

A dopey smile crosses Griffin’s mouth, a ragdoll draped across Pat’s lap while he takes care of him. “Don’t I know it.” 

Late afternoon pushes into evening and they both fight off sleep to walk toward the clearing at the edge of camp to watch the sunset with a small crowd, seated on benches and along a low stone wall. The sky turns a thousand colors and Pat and Griffin sit in a patch of wildflowers, an arm around each other, watching it in silent wonder. When the last of the sun finally disappears, they cross the campground to the visitors center here, smaller than the one on the other side of the mountain, but with one plus: a cafeteria. It has limited quantity and limited options, but they’re lucky to get some bean chili and cornbread for dinner, filling up their water bottles at a fountain. 

It’s dark once they’re done eating and make it back to their campsite by the light of RV headlights and zeroing in on the little purple and white twinkling lights strung up in the mesh window of their tent. They had snuck one big can of beer up to share, kept relatively cold next to the frozen Gatorades, and they sit just inside the tent’s opening to drink it now, passing it back and forth and watching the wavering, dark shapes of the forest in the occasional beam of headlight or lantern or open RV door, torturing each other with talk of how good their bed would feel right now, how nice it’s going to be to fall into that familiar mattress once they’re home. After a long, exhausting day, the one beer is just enough to put them both on a buzz, and they zip up the tent and turn out the lights, stripping down and stretching out next to each other in the sleeping bag, nearly asleep before they’ve even closed their eyes. 

They’re reluctant to wake in the morning, warm cuddled up next to each other and sore and perfectly content to stay right here for a few weeks sleeping, but eventually, the sounds of other campers--especially the excited noises of children--convinces them it’s time to get up. They take their time getting ready, having breakfast in the tent. Griffin had been unsure of Pat making overnight oats to take with them, but it had worked out well, mixing oats, nuts, and some chia seeds into a cleaned out plastic peanut butter jar with vanilla almond milk and letting it soak together on the hike to soften. They share the jar back and forth, not even bothering to use two different spoons, and finish off the strawberries and their last banana, making sure to hydrate well now before the hike to try and avoid the mistake from yesterday. Griffin pulls their medications out of his pack and hands Pat his, nearly having forgotten. It’s hard to remember when their routine is so different on the trip, but at some point each day so far, one of them has remembered at least before lunch. 

Finally something close to awake, they walk across the parking lot to the indoor bathrooms to brush their teeth and clean up a little. When they return to the tent, they make quick work breaking it down and packing everything up, consolidating all their trash to get rid of here at the campground, recycling what they can, before starting off to the trailhead. 

It’s mid-morning and cooler than yesterday, and as they take the path down to follow a creek, there is heavy fog drifting through the trees. It only adds to the surreal, fairytale feeling of this place, with giant, vibrant green ferns and towering, massive trees. The fog clears slowly and the day warms a little as they hike through a meadow and Pat resumes his bug-finding, spotting beetles and giant grasshoppers, occasionally picking them up when the creatures allow, examining them gently, sometimes with pictures, before putting them back. He does the same with some species of plants, and when he starts getting very distracted by a grouping of large mushrooms, Griffin realizes he’s taking references photos. 

He’s nearly done with the music for the first level of Pat’s game, and he hasn’t gotten much more information out of him, though it isn’t for lack of trying. He tries again now, waiting while Pat climbs over a fallen log to look at some tall, skinny white caps, crouching low to take a photo up under them to see the gills. “So what is the little mushroom’s name?” 

Pat almost names the mushrooms in front of him, like he had with Fuzz Muffin the caterpillar, before realizing Griffin is talking about his game’s character. He smiles knowingly for a while, silent, but feels in good humor enough to give Griffin at least half an answer. “They don’t have one.” 

“They _are_ a mushroom, right? Or maybe, like a jellyfish?” The creature has a flowy, loose design and moves almost like it’s in water, maybe he’s off-base in his assumption. 

Pat climbs back over the log and continues up the trail. “Mm, no, they’re a mushroom, but, a mushroom _spirit_.” 

Griffin feels like he’s getting somewhere now and makes a mental note to give the piece he’s writing a touch more ethereal tone, maybe a nice wavey reverb. He tries asking a few more things, like if the forest in the first level is where the mushroom spirit lives, if there are other mushroom spirits or if this character is the only one, if there are regular mushrooms in the world, too, but Pat just smiles and keeps quiet. Griffin finally gives up, but counts what little he’s learned as a victory. 

The hike is much easier today than yesterday, though they are both sore and tired, and as they come up over a hill and can see the parking lot where they’d left the car, they take each other’s hand and hold on for the last mile and half. There are showers at the visitors center and they pull out clean clothes, flip flops, and toiletries from the trunk of the car, scrubbing off and feeling much more like real human beings once they are clean and dressed in fresh clothes. Back at the car, Pat walks barefoot into the grass and takes a last long took up the valley. He knows he wants to return here some day and hike through the trees up towards Clouds Rest, or see anywhere else in the park, really. It’s easily the most beautiful place he’s ever seen, and even standing before it is hard to believe such natural splendor is real. 

Griffin comes up to him and puts an arm around him, prompting him to turn. He’s set the camera on a bench with an auto-timer and Pat turns and hugs onto Griffin with a big grin just in time, the incredible landscape centered behind them. Pat feels almost reluctant to leave, staring out the window as Griffin drives them west out of the park, towards their next stop at a hostel just outside San Francisco. Passing back out of the park and onto roads dotted with strip malls and billboards and rundown gas stations, the sense of unreality he’d had looking up at Half Dome and Bridalveil Fall grows, feeling like surely it is impossible for such a pristine, incredible place to exist in the same world as used car dealerships and department stores and identical-looking houses packed cheek-by-jowl into suburbs. 

They stop for lunch and when they get back into the car, Griffin checks his phone before starting the engine, humming softly to himself. “Owen messaged me back.” 

Pat assumes this must be the boy from high school. “And?” 

“And he’s cool with it? _You’re not the first guy in the closet to throw me under the bus, and if I’d had the option of hiding like you could, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same. It’s scary being different, people are afraid of different, but it’s cool you’ve obviously grown as a person and stopped hiding, and it’s nice hearing from you. Congrats on the boyfriend, you two seem really happy._ Huh…” 

Pat waits for Griffin to read the rest of the message, finally putting his phone away again and starting the car. “Feel better?” 

Griffin nods, pulling back onto the main road. “Yeah, I do.” He’s quiet for a minute and Pat can tell he’s still thinking about something, giving him time to let him in on what’s on his mind. “I guess you wouldn’t know, but I was just thinking, like… so Sam and I had been having sex for a year or so before we broke up, virginity was like, not even a thing anymore, but all my firsts with guys still felt like… virginity two-point-oh? Is that weird?” 

Pat doesn’t have anything to compare it to, he’s only ever been with men. “I mean, my first time topping felt like a… not a big deal, but like _a thing_. It wasn’t like when I bottomed for the first time, it was different enough that I was nervous about it.” 

“That’s sort of what I mean, yeah, like bottoming for the first time was so stressful, I had worked it up in my head so much.” He shoots Pat a look before returning his eyes to the road. “Did it all kind of happen at once or was there a gap in between? Like… I made out with Owen and we fooled around, like handjobs and stuff, and then I didn’t do anything with a guy again ‘til my gap year, and then I didn’t bottom until sophomore year, and it all felt so… daunting? All the first new things? But I also dealt with feeling like it was wrong for a long time, maybe it’s just me…” 

Pat thinks about it, shrugging. “Honestly, I lost my virginity on purpose because I got too nervous about it. Like, I had my first kiss and sex for the first time within a couple months of each other.” 

Griffin laughs. “What?” 

“Really! It just got so nerve-wracking to think about this thing that was made out to be so life-changing that I just wanted to get it over with and not be a virgin anymore. I was really opportunistic about sex before you, I just… did it. I think sometimes just because I felt like I was supposed to? A little bit once I was on my own because I _could_ , it was a novelty to do what I wanted. I was on Grindr a lot and lied about my age. I, uh… I had a slut phase, for sure.” He isn’t actually embarrassed about it, but he and Griffin haven’t ever delved into their sexual pasts and he knows Griffin can get jealous, but he’s laughing now. 

“I did, too, trust me. Once I finally stopped being so fucking guilty and ashamed, it was free-love with any boy that would have me. And when I figured out there were lots of hot guys that were attracted to me, then it was about riding that high of feeling hot and wanted, and I mean… being twenty and having a lot of sex.” 

Pat snorts. “Baby, of course you’re sexy.” He thinks about how to word his next statement. “You’re the only person I’ve ever really been attracted to.” 

Griffin gives Pat a skeptical look with a grin. “Uh huh, only got eyes for me, huh?” he teases. 

“I’m serious, though, I’m pretty sure I’m asexual.” 

Griffin stops taking it as a joke and reaches to squeeze Pat’s knee. “Yeah?” He’d assumed something similar for a while. When they have sex, it’s passionate and steamy and deeply intimate, but it’s almost always Griffin initiating it. Pat doesn’t seem to think much about sex on his own. 

Pat nods. “Yeah. Or on the spectrum? Like… demisexual, maybe? Because I’m definitely attracted to you. Like a lot. But that happened after I developed an enormous crush on you, and was attracted to you as a person. The other times I’ve had sex were like… they could have been with anybody, honestly. It was just opportunity. I have a libido, I just don’t… it’s hard to explain? It’s sort of hard to think about, because I feel like… okay, so for you, when you would see a hot guy, there’s sexual attraction, right?” 

Griffin tentatively nods, reminding himself Pat’s not the type to use this as some sort of trap. 

“Yeah, that doesn’t happen to me. Unless it’s you. I see a hot guy and it’s just, oh, he’s really attractive. Anyway… And that’s it. Every time I’d had sex before you was so anonymous and, this sounds shitty, but the guys didn’t matter? It was like masturbating with another person, not… not like with you, where it’s _about_ you. So, going back to what you were asking, being with you sort of felt like that. That I’d had sex before but being with you, when I wanted _you_ and everything felt so heightened because you’re important to me, yeah, I’d describe that as almost like a virgin experience.” He hopes that makes sense. He knows his own orientation, he isn’t really confused about that. When he’d first heard about asexuality, it had been illuminating, and he’d been fine quietly knowing that label was his, but it’s complicated to explain. 

Griffin rubs his knee more. “That’s sweet, babe.” He smiles at him again. “I think I know what you mean, I get what you’re saying. It’s not really a surprise to me?” Pat looks relieved. “I’ve been in love before, and yeah, sex in love is different from just a fun time, but… it’s different for me with you, too. I know not the same way it is for you, I just mean… you’re different for me. From anyone. You always have been.” Pat puts his hand over Griffin’s on his knee and Griffin takes it, lifting it to his mouth to kiss. Pat’s heart skips a beat and then he’s laughing when Griffin asks in a teasing voice, “So who was it that you topped first?” 

“You, dumbass!” 

They both fall into laughter, Griffin had had no idea despite the fact Pat insists he had told Griffin at the time, but it doesn’t matter. They put the playlist on and crank the volume all the way into San Francisco, ready for a chance to relax. 

The hostel is a large house set in a wooded neighborhood and the yard is sectioned off into some spots for tents to be set up, divided by privacy hedges or tall flowers. It’s a funky little place, but it’s clean and well kept. They check in and set the tent up towards the back of the yard along the wooden fence covered in jasmine, just beginning to bloom. They had set this stop aside for themselves as an opportunity to just chill out and lounge if they wanted. There are some museums they’d like to see if they feel like it, but there’s no pressure, and the atmosphere of the hostel and the surrounding neighborhood is laid back and conducive to rest and leisure. The hiking had worn them both out and they don’t last very long after dinner, sleeping well past sunrise the next morning. Pat gets up first and does their laundry, joining a few of the other guests for some yoga in the front lawn before walking a couple blocks to get he and Griffin breakfast. 

He unzips the tent to find Griffin awake and on his phone, still snuggled up under the blankets. Griffin sits up when Pat crawls into the tent, taking the hot coffee offered to him and sniffing the breakfast bag, burritos and hash rounds. “Mmm, breakfast in bed, how romantic, bud.” 

Pat snickers, kissing Griffin good morning. “Only the best for my boy.” He leaves the tent’s door flap open so they can watch the birds flitting around a large feeder in the garden while they have breakfast in comfortable silence. The sky is grey and overcast, providing a perfect mood for them to stay in bed. 

They take all the extra pillows and blankets from the car and make them into a cuddle nest in the tent, snacking and watching movies Griffin had downloaded on his laptop for the trip. There’s no rush to pack up, they don’t check out until tomorrow morning, and when a light rain passes through in the early afternoon, it lulls them into a nap, curled up around each other, snuggled into hoodies and buried under a pile of blankets. When they wake, they decide to not waste the entire day and take a bus downtown to the natural history museum, staying until the museum closes. Pat wants to come back before they leave San Francisco to see the parts they had missed and Griffin promises they’ll try to squeeze it in if possible. They walk around downtown for a while, stopping at a sandwich shop for dinner, before returning to the hostel and curling back up in the tent for another movie, feeling like they’ve had a sufficiently restful, rejuvenating day. 

In the morning, they load the car at first light and check out of the hostel, grabbing a quick breakfast on the way to Muir Woods. The juxtaposition Pat had felt between the beauty of Yosemite and the mundanity of urban spaces is packed closely together here, crossing the Golden Gate Bridge into a forest that towers over the road, trees even bigger here than what they had seen a few days before. The ecology here is different than Yosemite, it feels moist and verdant and the smell and sound of the ocean in the distance creates a sense of mystery or even melancholy. Pat is barely out of the car and already in love, taking Griffin’s hand and picking the nearest trail to start down. 

The hiking here is much easier, and they stroll at a leisurely pace, almost meditative. The moment they are out of sight from the parking lot or any other visitors, Pat gives in and hugs one of the enormous redwoods, though it feels much more like pressing himself up against a flat wall, the trunk is so huge. As they walk further into the forest, he can’t shake the feeling that there is a presence in the woods, that the forest itself _has_ a presence, a personality and awareness. It’s an odd thought and one he doesn’t exactly believe, but the feeling persists until he finds himself subconsciously accepting it. He doesn’t share these thoughts, not yet, but Griffin must be feeling something similar. He tugs Pat off the path around a huge fallen tree trunk and pulls a joint out of his pocket. “You wanna commune with nature?” 

They hide behind the fallen giant and get stoned and kiss and when the warm, heady feeling of cannabis starts to settle over him, Pat tries to explain what the forest has him thinking. Griffin nods along and points to a cluster of mushrooms. He tells Pat in a slow, meandering, stoned kind of way how the network of mushroom filaments, all the stuff under the dirt that worms its way through the mulch like roots, connects ecosystems like this in a pattern similar to nerve synapses in a brain, and Pat takes it as gospel. It certainly feels like the whole forest here is one breathing, living thing. 

Yosemite had seemed like wilderness scratching out an existence up through the rocky land, there had been a sort of hardness to it, something inhospitable despite its beauty, but the trees here, the ferns and vines and the squishy, damp earth feel settled and calm. This has been their home for a very, very long time, and it’s a place suited for them, and unlike the challenge of Yosemite, where scaling Sentinel Dome had felt like conquest, the redwood forest feels like walking into a friend’s living room. It’s a weird thought, but one Pat holds onto, something he might churn into story for the game later. For now, he takes it at face value and lets himself think of the forest as an entity, feeling like he wants to be its friend. 

They wander off the trail for a while, just far enough that they can still see it, and simply enjoy being stoned outside. It’s a different experience from being indoors, it feels less recreational and more like a full experience all to itself. A small storm rolls in off the water and they start looking for a place to shelter if it begins to rain, finding a tree with a huge hollow that they can stand under, like a natural gazebo. The rain settles in for nearly an hour and they sit in the tree and talk and cuddle, riding out the cannabis and watching the storm pass. It feels cleansing and peaceful in a way neither of them knew they needed, emerging back onto the trail once the rain is gone, feeling renewed. 

As they start to circle back towards the car, Pat tugs Griffin off the path one more time, getting a kick out of finding a spot where they can see no trail or markers or signs and looking around in all directions and seeing nothing but forest. Satisfied, they are about to go back to the trail and return to the car when Griffin notices it. He isn’t sure if it’s what he thinks it is, it must be a similar looking plant, but he tugs Pat over to investigate and as they draw nearer, they can smell that it’s in fact exactly what he’d thought: a huge, thriving, blooming rosemary bush. Pat all but puts his face in it and takes a big sniff, sighing it back out. “I don’t know what it means, but I feel like this is a sign.” 

Griffin smiles and kisses Pat’s cheek, lacing their fingers together. Pat is sheepish about it at first, but finally asks if he can get a photo of their tattoos with the plant and Griffin complies, helping Pat shimmy his left arm out of his jacket and holding their arms up in front of a dense cluster of flowers, holding hands. It’s an awkward angle and takes a few tries to get a good shot, but Pat is finally satisfied, immediately setting the photo as his phone’s lock screen. He thinks about it for a while, not sure if it’s appropriate or not, but finally, unable to help himself, he reaches out and plucks a sprig from the bush, taking a dime from his pocket and setting it in the dirt under the lower branches as payment. He rolls the sprig between his fingers and tucks it into his pocket, finally trudging back to the main trail and out of the forest to the parking lot. 

Pat’s glad Griffin is good to drive, because he certainly isn’t, his head still a little stoned and distracted with half-ideas and concepts. He feels like there’s something good in the forest that fits perfectly into what he already has of the story for his game, and he lets his mind wander as Griffin drives them back into the city, daydreaming and letting the persona of the trees find their place somewhere in the fantasy environment he’s already created. 

Their final lodging of the trip is one of the few big splurges, staying at a nice hotel near downtown with a fantastic view. Griffin had gotten a great deal on the room and they feel a little out of place when they enter the lobby to check in, the general atmosphere much more upscale than they had expected. The room, itself, is luxurious, with a huge, soft bed, and a spacious, beautifully tiled bathroom and a tub big enough for both of them that they plan on taking advantage of later. For now, they get a quick shower and rest a little before going out for dinner. They had both packed a nice outfit for their final night and have reservations at a fancy Lebanese restaurant. They leave early enough to revisit the museum again and cover the main exhibits they had missed yesterday, catching each other stealing glances, admiring each other cleaned up and looking smart. Pat has his hair pulled back into a neat bun and while Griffin prefers to see it loose, he does appreciate an unobstructed view of the cheekbones and jawline that make his knees weak. Pat keeps slipping his hand under Griffin’s jacket and resting it on the small of his back and Griffin soaks up how comforting and wanted it makes him feel. 

They take a leisurely walk from the museum to the restaurant, stopping in front of a large, brightly lit fountain to take a few pictures together. Griffin sets one as his new phone background, commenting under his breath, “damn, we look good together”. Pat snickers and kisses Griffin’s temple, looping his arm through Griffin’s as they hike up a steep hill to the bistro. Dinner is delicious, though they spend most of it looking adoringly at each other over the candles on the table and reaching across to hold each other’s hand. They rarely go out on fancy dates like this, usually reserved for anniversaries and birthdays, and it’s hard not to fall for the cliche of it all, practically heart-eyed and swooning at each other. 

Taking dessert to go, they pick up a bottle of rosé on the way back to the hotel, along with some lavender bubble bath solution and some tealight candles, having wine and sweets in a frothy bath together, lit with a dozen candles on the bathroom counter. After five nights in a tent, this feels like royal treatment. They fit around each other in the tub to sit in their love couch, making little bubble sculptures and passing the wine back and forth. With no glasses on, they’re blurry to each other, but Griffin can still tell when Pat is smiling and knows that even like this, it’s the most gorgeous thing he’s seen in weeks. 

Their hands and feet are pruny and the water has gone lukewarm by the time they finally get out, wrapping up in the big soft bathrobes provided and going to flop down on the gigantic bed. Griffin rolls towards Pat and pulls him close and soon the robes are on the floor. They kiss each other breathless, Griffin breaking away and gasping for air, reaching up to push Pat’s hair back out of his face. Quietly, shyly, he asks Pat to make to love to him. It’s not a request he’s posed before, it’s usually something that simply happens, but they feel on the road to it, anyway. Pat obliges happily, kissing Griffin all over, touching him tenderly and making him tremble under his hands, vulnerable and shy, but open to him nonetheless. 

He clings to Pat is if he’ll sink through the floor if he lets go, sighing and moaning in his ear and, to Pat’s surprise, even shedding a few tears. It’s usually Pat getting overwhelmed and emotional when they’re close like this, but he knows how good it feels to surrender to Griffin, and he hopes he can make Griffin feel that way now, kissing him slow and with purpose, moving inside him much the same. Griffin wraps his thighs tightly around Pat and works back into him, moaning into his mouth and whispering so often it nearly becomes a chant, and then a round between them both, “I love you, I need you, you feel so good, please don’t stop, please don’t let me go”. They are both flung off and then floating over the edge, coming down in a drifting, feather-light glow, and Pat has Griffin wrapped tightly in his arms, kissing away tears and adding his own. 

A calm rolls over them like fog. The lovemaking has shifted a few things around and cleaned others out like it always does, emotional messiness that is buried too deep in their subconscious to straighten out on their own, but whenever they come together like this, it always feels like it’s exactly what they both needed, unsure what work has been done on some deep level of their psyches, but knowing that it’s happened. Griffin is tucked safely in Pat’s arms and can’t get over how grateful he is to be here. “This has been really fun.” His own voice feels loud in the stillness, unsure if Pat is even still awake, his hand just barely stroking Griffin’s back, but he hums and presses a kiss to Griffin’s brow. 

“Yeah, it has. We should make a point to do this more. I’d love to see the world with you.” 

Griffin thinks immediate, _**you’re** my world_ , but he doesn’t say it, fuck, is he really such a sap? But he doesn’t have to. They both feel the same way. 

They check out of the hotel as late as they possibly can the next morning, finding a little place in the Castro district to have brunch and say goodbye to San Francisco. Heading south, they follow along the coast back home to LA, blaring the playlist again with the windows down to let in the ocean breezes. They only stop once to fuel up and stretch their legs, but it’s still a haul back home and it’s nearly dark when they pull into their neighborhood. They leave everything in the car, they can unpack tomorrow, and go upstairs. Ashley and Simone have done a good job taking care of the cats and Pat’s house plants, and it’s the first time they’ve been away long enough to get a strong sense of what their apartment smells like. Incense and laundry and the sandalwood diffuser, subtle but warm and familiar. It smells like home. 

Griffin pulls a manicotti and some garlic bread out of the freezer and preheats the oven, having made them before they’d left, knowing they’d want some homemade comfort food when they returned without having to actually cook anything. Pat gets changed into some comfy, clean clothes and places the sprig of rosemary on his bedside table to dry, finding a cat toy and rounding up his furry little boys for some playtime. He’d missed them so much and it feels so nice to see that they’ve missed him, too. 

Dinner on the couch while watching TV is a pleasant return to usual life, and Pat is glad they have one more day tomorrow before they return to work and the real world. The escape has been rejuvenating, though he knows now he’s going to be dreaming about those huge trees and looming mountains, will feel them calling to him until he finds the time to return to them one day. 

As they expected, getting into bed is a marvelous sensation, relaxing into the mattress shaped to them. The cats find warm little spots between them to curl up and Pat has a swell of love for his life, having Griffin and these two little goobers to love him and spend time with, and a space he feels safe in that he can call his own. He knows they won’t always be in this apartment or Los Angeles, and he knows, too, that the cats won’t live forever (though he lets himself think about this substantially less) but he knows as long as he has Griffin, this feeling, this safety and security and warmth will always be there, and wherever that feeling is, he will be home. For a week, it had been in a tent, and one day, it will be in a house, a real grown-up-with-responsibilities house, but as long as it’s with Griffin, more and more his other half--and maybe a cat or two--it will always feel like exactly where he’s meant to be.


	30. Chapter 30

Stumbling out of the cab and stomping in a drunken, echoey train upstairs, the four of them share cheek-kisses goodnight outside their apartments before disappearing inside. It’s been a long day, the kind that feels like four days all crammed together in some sort of weird loop. They had camped out to watch the parade in the morning, walked down to the park for all the festivities and live bands in the afternoon, had a long, indulgent dinner together downtown, and then partied it up in a few different clubs through the night. For Pat and Griffin, it’s their first Pride in LA, and only their second together. Griffin finally feels in a good enough place with his meds to be in crowds, and just in case, Simone and he had a vape pen with cannabis oil in it for emergency crowd-anxiety management. It was a lot, but the overstimulation of the day helped float over any nervous pits, and by the end of the night, he was so drunk and giddy on the general vibe of the event, he didn’t care. 

He’s still singing Carly Rae as they get into the apartment, grabbing himself a Gatorade from the fridge to hydrate and try to preemptively slay any hangover. He’s got four different wristbands on, from the event in the park and the bars, and is wearing Mardi Gras beads he doesn’t quite remember acquiring, clacking quietly as he sways drunkenly around the apartment, kicking off his shoes and dancing as he goes about getting ready for bed. He’s in a good mood, on a good buzz, and hasn’t noticed yet that Pat has been stewing for the last hour or two, and is currently very near livid. 

Griffin starts to wonder when Pat yanks off his ace-pride flag pin and tosses it down on the nightstand with his phone with a loud smack, unrolling the sleeves of his button-down and pulling it off with quick, jerky motions, whipping it angrily into the hamper as he goes into the bathroom and starts scrubbing the rainbow painted heart off his cheek with a damp washcloth. Griffin had wondered a few times through the night if maybe he was getting a little too drunk, a little too rowdy, but every time he’d checked in with Pat, things seemed fine. He guesses maybe they actually weren’t. Peeking around the bathroom door, he frowns at Pat scrubbing his cheek so hard it turns red, and he can see by the set of Pat’s jaw that he isn’t just annoyed. “Hey.” Griffin is scared to ask, but he doesn’t want to ignore this. “Babe, are you okay?” 

Pat throws the washcloth into the hamper and shoves a headband on to get his hair out of the way so he can wash his face and brush his teeth, shooting Griffin a glance that’s _seething_. He’s quiet for a while, going about his nightly routine with tight, angry motions, and Griffin wonders if he’s just going to get the silent treatment and have to guess what’s going on when Pat finally speaks up, drying his face. 

“You’re an asshole when you’re drunk.” 

Griffin’s shoulders slump and he feels like all the fun of the day, all the buzzing, upbeat energy, all rushes out of him, deflated, defeated, and ashamed. Pat has gone back to angrily brushing his teeth and Griffin quietly offers, “I’m sorry.” 

Pat spits into the sink and shoots him another look that’s all daggers. “You didn’t seem that sorry when people were buying you drinks.” 

Griffin doesn’t know what to say, walking away to peel the holographic bi-pride sticker off his cheek and slap it into his journal, getting some pajamas and swapping places with Pat in the bathroom all in a very uncomfortable, tense silence. He gets ready for bed and tries to think of how to talk to Pat, to prepare himself for the fight that’s looming, but when he comes out of the bathroom, Pat is just leaving the bedroom with an armful of pillows and a blanket from the hall, going into the living room to set up a place to sleep on the couch. Griffin hurries after him, starting to panic. “Babe! Come on, please, don’t sleep out here--” 

“Don’t fuckin’ ‘babe’ me right now,” Pat grits out, flicking the blanket out in a loud snap that scares Charlie out from under the coffee table. He can’t look at Griffin, he’s too angry and he doesn’t want to deal with it right now. “I just wanna sleep…” 

Griffin flounders, making noises but no words, and sits down on the couch so Pat can’t stretch out when he moves to lap down. “I wanna sleep, too, but I won’t if we don’t talk about this. I hate going to bed angry. I’m sorry I’m irritating. I know I’m a lot sometimes, especially when I drink. I was just--” He can hear himself making excuses and sighs. “I was having fun, and I had too much to drink, and I’m sorry that I didn’t notice that you weren’t having fun, too.” 

Pat finally meets his eyes and Griffin wants to look away again. Under the anger is hurt. “You _flirted_ with _other guys **in front of me**_.” He balls up his fists in a frustrated gesture. “Do you know what that’s like for me? And you were so fucking drunk, sloppy, irritating, fucking annoying drunk! You _embarrassed_ me, Griffin!” 

Griffin hates himself a lot all of a sudden, sobering up quickly as the words slam right into his chest. “I--” Pat’s not wrong. Griffin had flirted and danced and had a grand time with lots of people through the night, some of which were really gorgeous, scantily clad men, but he’d figured, that’s Pride, right? And Pat was dancing with other people, too, right? Or had it just been Simone and Ashley? Maybe a few other friends he already knew that had been at the same club? He doesn’t know what to say. It hadn’t meant anything, he wasn’t coming onto anyone, he was just enjoying himself. He likes to flirt, it feels like a game, and it’s nice to feel attractive, but it’s not like he means anything by it. But maybe that doesn’t matter. “I’m sorry,” he offers again, but it feels pretty useless. 

Pat had been stiff and intimidating at first, but all the fury is dying down quickly, and he’s slowly retreating into the corner of the couch, legs tucked up against his body, arms wrapped around himself. “I’ve never been jealous like this before, this sucks. This really fucking sucks, I hate how this feels!” 

Griffin can’t help but laugh a little, knowing exactly what he means. “Yeah, it’s not great.” 

“I feel stupid!” Pat shakes his head and asks very softly, “aren’t I enough?” He shakes his head again like he hadn’t meant to say it. He’s realizing he’s also pretty drunk and it’s affecting how he’s reacting, but that doesn’t change how upset he feels right this moment. He shrinks away from Griffin when he comes closer and tries to hug him, but there isn’t anywhere to go. 

Griffin settles for resting his hands on Pat’s knees, trying to get him to look at him. “Baby… Patrick, you have never been anything less than an abundance. You are always enough.” 

Pat shakes his head again, trying to change the subject, telling Griffin he hadn’t meant it, it was stupid to say, but Griffin keeps talking. “No, you need to hear this. I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I never meant to, and if I had stopped for a minute to realize you weren’t enjoying yourself anymore, I would have cut it out. I should have been dancing and flirting with you, and I’m sorry I didn’t figure out that maybe it was shitty of me to flirt with other people.” 

Pat mumbles incoherently and picks at a loose thread on his pants before finally muttering out, “It’s not really that big of a deal, I’m overreacting. You were just having fun.” 

“I _was_ just having fun, and maybe it isn’t that big of a deal, but if it makes you upset, I’m still sorry. Does it bother you that I flirt at all, or that it was in front of you like that?” 

Pat pouts and shrugs. “I guess it doesn’t bother me in general?” It’s part of Griffin’s personality, after all. He’s flirty and playful with everyone, but… “With guys, though… It’s stupid! That’s stupid! But I hate that you flirt with other guys.” 

Griffin leans in and kisses Pat’s cheek to reassure him this isn’t stupid. “Then I won’t anymore. Actually, I’ll do my best to just… cut the flirting out in general, it’s probably going to get me in an awkward situation one day if I don’t, but, I promise I won’t flirt with other men anymore.” 

Pat sighs and nods, then looks up at Griffin again and Griffin is glad to see the anger is completely gone, but the hurt has settled in. “You shouldn’t have to, though. It’s not like I think you’re gonna cheat, I _do_ actually trust you, it’s just… ugh! I hate thinking about you finding other men attractive? I can’t stand the thought of guys hitting on you. It makes me feel so insecure, and possessive. And I hate that! I can’t stand thinking that way, you don’t _belong_ to me.” 

Griffin shrugs. “I don’t?” Pat gives him a look, confused. “I mean, yeah, you don’t _own_ me, but… I think of myself that way. That I’m yours. I _like_ thinking of myself that way. Is that not cool? Is that weird?” 

Pat sighs and takes Griffin’s hand, hugging it against his chest. “No, I… I mean, I’m yours, too.” He shakes his head again, harder, like it will clear all this weird fog and the petty, jealous thoughts and insecurities. “This is so ridiculous, I’m sorry I got mad.” 

“Don’t apologize! It’s okay. We’re human. If it had been the other way around, I would have gotten mad, too. But… you know, I gave myself to you a long time ago. Nobody else holds a candle to you, baby.” He leans in and kisses Pat’s jaw, making Pat actually smile. 

“Uh huh, I’m sure,” he jokes, rolling his eyes. 

“It’s not a line! It sounds like one, it’s really fuckin’ corny, but, it’s not a line, babe.” Griffin kisses Pat’s jaw again, nuzzling his cheek. “You are the most incredible, kind, radiant, fascinating, beautiful person I’ve ever known and I love you more than I ever thought was possible. I’m sorry I was a drunk ass and I made you jealous. But I love you so fucking much, and I hope you know that.” 

Pat squeezes Griffin’s hand and leans against him. “Yeah, I know that…” 

They stay that way for a little while, nuzzling quietly, letting any residual resentment or uncertainty drain way. “So you’ll come to bed?” 

Pat sighs and nods, feeling silly, like a drama queen, for dragging all this stuff out to the couch. Griffin helps him put the extra stuff back on the shelf by the washer and dryer and they finally get into bed, not quite snuggled, but close together. They don’t know how to sleep separated anymore, they’ve gotten too used to being comfortable hugged onto each other and tangled up. Griffin pulls out his phone to set an alarm for tomorrow, not wanting to sleep all day, and clicks over to flick through his camera roll. 

“We did have fun, though, huh?” Pat rests his head against Griffin’s to look while he flips through photos of the two of them with Simone and Ashley at the parade, short videos of them dancing together in the grass during a live band in the park, photos at dinner, even a few dark, blurry shots in the club. Up until jealousy had laid claim to him, Pat had actually enjoyed himself a lot. It was a whirlwind of feathers and glitter and people and sounds, just a maddening amount of input, but they had been there with good friends and it was a day that wasn’t too hot, and they had just celebrated their fourth anniversary and were gliding on that, as well. He hopes his outburst hasn’t marred it all for Griffin, but he’s always amazed at how easily Griffin can forgive and let things slide. He’s always so understanding, this could have been a huge fight, but maybe at this point, they just love each other too much to put up the kind of walls that a screaming match requires. 

Griffin puts his phone away and once it’s dark in the room, it’s easy to fall asleep fast. Despite the alarm, they both sleep into the early afternoon and Pat is hungover when he does finally get up. Griffin isn’t much better off and makes them waffles, eating on the couch with some random history show on. It takes a while for them to shake feeling groggy and achy, requiring lots of cuddles and orange juice, but the hangovers fade, and Griffin has something he needs to get out on the table. 

The moment he hears, “I need to talk to you about something,” Pat panics. He’s really not proud of the way he’d acted last night, and the insecurity and irrational fear flares up quickly in his mind. For no logical reason at all, he’s convinced himself Griffin is about to dump him within about three seconds of Griffin opening the conversation. 

“There’s um… there’s a job opening at a radio station in Portland. It’s sort of what I’m doing now, managing social media and on-location events and stuff, but it’s a designated position and the pay is better.” 

“Oregon?” Pat asks hopefully. He loves Griffin so much, but he doesn’t know if he’d ever go back to Maine. 

“Yeah, Oregon. It just opened up for applications and Eddie already told the station manager about me, but…” 

Pat’s brows furrow. “But what?” 

“What if I get it?” 

“...that would be great? Right?” Griffin looks conflicted, like he’s been sitting on this a while and doesn’t know how to feel about it, and it only makes Pat more nervous. 

“If I get it, then I’d have to move. What if you get the job here with your internship?” 

Pat feels very sad all of a sudden, not sure where Griffin is going with this. “We’d figure it out? Or do you… you’re not breaking up with me, right?” 

Griffin jolts, stunned by the question. “What?! No! I just mean… I don’t know if I want to apply, like, it’s a really cool position and I’d have a better, more flexible schedule, but, we’d be long distance again and--” 

“No we wouldn’t. You’re out of your mind, are you kidding?” Pat throws up his hands, shaking his head. “Hell no! We made it through once, but I’m _never_ doing that again. Where you go, I go.” 

Griffin sighs, frowning. “But babe! You could have a good job here! In a field you wanna work in! I don’t want you to leave that just for me. I don’t want that to be the kind of relationship we have, I want us to still put ourselves first. That’s… that’s what I’m stuck on, that if I apply and I get the job, if you came with me, it would be my career over yours and--” 

“Shut up.” Pat surges forward and kisses him, cutting him off. Griffin sucks in a breath through his nose and sputters when Pat pulls away. 

“But baby, what--” 

“Just shut up,” Pat tells him again, his voice soft and flat, kissing him deeper and hugging onto him when he pulls away this time, rocking gently. They hold each other for a while, Pat’s hand rubbing circles on Griffin’s back while Griffin runs his fingers through Pat’s hair. Pat leans back after a long while and cups Griffin’s face in his hands. “Apply. If you don’t get it, then we don’t have anything to worry about. And if you do, then… I’ll be really happy for you.” 

“But baby, I--” 

Pat closes his eyes and shakes his head and Griffin shuts his mouth. “I would go back to waiting tables if it meant being with you. Maybe that’s too codependent, but it’s just the truth. I’ve been apart from you before and I hated it, so, unless you tell me you don’t love me anymore, you’re not going anywhere without me.” Griffin feels like he might cry, how lucky is he to have someone who will support him like this and stay by him and want to be with him through anything? They share a tender wordless moment, nose-to-nose, before Pat adds, “And I mean, you moved to California for me, so… It seems fair.” 

They both laugh and kiss some more, cuddling on the couch until they’re hungry again and Pat makes leftovers while Griffin reviews his resume. They both go over it while they eat, Pat giving Griffin suggestions on how to make himself sound the most appealing for the job, and by the late evening, Griffin has submitted his application and he’s nervous and anxious, but excited. Since their roadtrip, they’ve both been feeling like Los Angeles isn’t the place for them anymore, that its charm is wearing off for them. Maybe a move is what they need. Maybe it’s perfect. They could buy a house, perhaps, with some land, maybe grow a small garden. Maybe finally get married… Griffin’s getting ahead of himself, he might not get the job at all and they might spend the next several years in this apartment, but it’s nice to dream. Thinking about it feels positive and hopeful, and like always when Griffin thinks about the future, central to all of it is Pat. 

“Where you go, I go.” Griffin keeps thinking about those words. It’s not exactly “I love you”, but it feels the same. It’s probably indeed codependent, but it’s just the way they work. Despite all other circumstances, they’re always better together.


	31. Chapter 31

Pat rubs the sleep out of his eyes, laughing groggily at Griffin who is sitting on his stomach with a mug of coffee, bugging him to wake up. Griffin’s only wearing boxers and an open satin robe they found at a thrift store, sporting some truly top-notch bedhead, and Pat finally gets tired of squinting and reaches for his glasses on the nightstand so he can see this fantastic sight properly. He lays his hands on Griffin’s thighs and rubs idly, given no motivation to get up whatsoever with Griffin’s warmth and weight over him and such a nice view. “I can’t get up with you on top of me,” he reminds him, though he hopes Griffin doesn’t move anytime soon. 

Griffin snorts and sets his coffee down, leaning over Pat. “Yes you can,” he teases, inciting a play fight with lots of cheap-shot tickling that ends with Griffin on his back with his wrists pinned down and Pat on top of him, kissing a sloppy path down his neck to immobilize him. 

“I’m up, I’m up! Happy?” 

Griffin brings his knee up to rub his thigh against Pat’s hardon, smirking, and Pat realizes this had been his real goal all along. “Oh you’re up all right,” Griffin coos and Pat lets out an exasperated sigh, hanging his head. They do actually have plans for the day. 

“How about we multitask. Shower handjobs?” Griffin seems pleased with this and follows Pat into the bathroom. An hour later, they’re both dressed and ready to head out, sharing a kiss as they pass each other grabbing the last of their things--keys, shoes, sunglasses--and giving the cats a little head-pat each before heading downstairs to the car. The weather has been glorious lately, sunny and warm without the usual blasting, mind-melting heat of summer, and Griffin has some free admission vouchers for the botanical garden. Their date nights have been getting a little routine and a day out around lots of lovely plants sounds like heaven. 

The last month has been strange for them. Good, but heavy. Pat had graduated and feels antsy already without stuff to do now without school. He hadn’t gotten the job with his internship, but the queer youth center he volunteers at offered him a part-time position that he enjoys. Griffin had gotten a phone interview with the job in Portland last week. They had sat down and talked about their future, revisiting the conversation a few times after some private reflection, and while Griffin had accepted Pat’s uncertainty as a valid answer, it’s been bothering Pat that he doesn’t really have a plan for the next five years. It’s one of the advantages of having a therapist, though, to know that his feeling this way is normal for suicide survivors. Once you’ve been in a place where you’re ready to end your life, it’s hard to imagine it continuing on. Pat’s been happy with taking things day-by-day, but it hadn’t even occurred to him to think further ahead until Griffin had asked him where he imagined himself in five years. 

It had been sort of scary. The future beyond anything already logged in his day planner feels hazy and dream-like, unreal until he gets there. He wants to have his game finished by then, that seems like a long enough timeline, and of course he can’t imagine himself without Griffin, but everything else is filler. Griffin’s plan sounds nice. A house together, married by then, both of them with full-time jobs and hopefully in better places, mentally and emotionally. Date nights still a fixture. Maybe a dog? He has a list of trips he’d like for them to take together over the years, places he wants to not just see, but see them with Pat. It all sounds good to Pat, but there’s still the nagging feeling that he’s only tagging onto Griffin’s plans, that he has none of his own, so he’s been really thinking, trying to come up with some reasonable goals. 

He feels silly about it, but one of his goals is to learn more about plants. Between working on his game, incorporating real botany into the characters and game mechanics, and slowly collecting a small hoard of house plants, he’s come to learn he likes them a lot, feels oddly connected to them in their own quiet way. He’s been looking forward to this trip to the botanical garden, still hungry for something a little more natural than their neighborhood parks after their roadtrip. It doesn’t really compare, but it’s a nice break from the usual urban monotony. 

They’re lucky to have few other visitors. They had figured on such a nice day, the place would be packed, but there are only a few spots along the wandering trail with groups of other people, just few enough to feel like they have some space and seclusion. Pat has his arm draped loosely over Griffin’s shoulders while Griffin gesticulates wildly, play-fighting over which Starfleet captain would win in a battle to the death. “Captain Kathryn Goddamn Janeway would eat Kirk’s beating heart as a pre-workout snack!” His hyperbole and commitment to his stance has Pat in tears laughing, conceding that Janeway would in fact best any other captain. Griffin’s still fired up, puffing up his chest. “Yeah, you bet I’m right! I’ve put four fuckin’ years in this relationship, don’t question me on Star Trek, babe.” 

Pat scoffs and rolls his eyes, shoving him playfully, and Griffin apologizes for overstepping it a little, giving Pat a kiss on the cheek. They split off from the paved path and onto a dirt one that winds into a small wooded area, down to a man made stream that runs in a loop around the whole park. There’s a concrete bench nestled amongst some large ferns overlooking a small waterfall over smooth stones and they sit for a while and listen to the sound of the stream, Pat’s arm still around Griffin. He’s relaxed and taking in big lungfuls of air that smells like plants and not just car exhaust and dumpsters, focusing on the quiet babble of the stream until the other sounds around them start to fade further into the background. It’s a peaceful, spaced out moment he thinks they’re sharing when he realizes Griffin is stiff and worrying his hands in tiny nervous gestures in his lap. 

He squeezes Griffin to him with the arm looped around him, rubbing his back. “Hey, are you okay?” 

Griffin looks up and tries to give him a smile but Pat knows him better than that and can tell something’s eating at him. “Yeah, I just… I got the job.” He sounds disappointed. 

Pat doesn’t know how to react. He’s happy for Griffin, Portland sounds like a fun new adventure for them, but Griffin doesn’t seem happy about it at all. “Is this not a good thing?” 

Griffin sighs and kicks a little pebble off into the stream. “It is! It’s just… a _lot_. It’s scary. It means moving and it means having a lot more responsibility, and it means… I don’t know, just a lot and it’s sort of freaking me out.” 

Pat mulls this over. He wasn’t offered his job here, so he knows Griffin isn’t worried that it’s about choosing one of their careers over the other, but, as much as they’re feeling ready to say goodbye to LA, their apartment is harder to imagine parting with, and the friends they’ve made will be sorely missed. Simone and Ashley especially have become part of their lives, not having them around anymore is sad to think about. But, both of their families live in Washington so it will be easy for them to come visit when they head home, and in the scheme of things it isn’t such a long drive. They could always meet halfway in San Francisco or Sacramento. No longer being neighbors, bouncing between each other’s apartments and making grocery runs together or spending evenings piled into Ashley and Simone’s California king bed watching movies and getting stoned makes Pat’s heart ache, but there can be new memories and good times, just further apart. He knows both of them will always be in their lives, one way or another. 

And then there’s the practical stuff, like packing and finding a new place and acclimating to a new city, a new microculture, a new job. Pat isn’t exactly looking forward to that part, either, especially the physical move, but it’s worth taking the chance. He squeezes the back of Griffin’s neck affectionately, leaning in to kiss his temple. “It’s okay. How long do we have?” 

“Late August? The lady I’m replacing is retiring, so, I’ll have a week with her to get me settled in.” Pat considers this, nodding. At least a month and a half to plan and get things sorted. It could be better, but it could also be much worse. 

“We can do that. We can make that work.” 

Griffin huffs and scrubs a hand against his cheek, a tell-tale sign his anxiety is sky high. Pat keeps rubbing the back of his neck and shoulders. “I know, it’s just so fucking much to think about and every time I try I get overwhelmed. Like, I should have told you yesterday I got the job but telling you meant starting to plan all this other stuff and I’m--” His voice cracks and Pat can tell his chest is tight and he’s breathing very shallow. He hushes him softly and keeps rubbing his back in slow, even, steady circles. 

“Breathe, it’s okay. You don’t have to do it all by yourself, or all at once.” They sit silently for a while until Griffin starts to calm down a little. 

“Can we walk some more? I think it will help me get my shit under control.” They loop back through the dirt path, returning to the paved walkway, meandering without any real direction, just walking while Griffin shakes off his nerves. 

Pat has his fingers laced with Griffin’s and reaches to cup the other around the back of Griffin’s hand, leaning into him slightly. “You know… it’s not like I haven’t already been planning, just in case. I’ve applied to a few jobs around Portland, and some remote at-home stuff with a couple indie companies.” Griffin looks up at him with a tired smile, not surprised. “I’ve been looking at houses, too. I mean, we have the money, we don’t have to rent anymore if we find some place we like.” 

Griffin sighs again. “Babe, I still don’t know how I feel about using your money on something huge like that. I don’t… I don’t have a lot to contribute, financially.” 

Pat shrugs. “If it’s my money, then what if it’s what I want? To buy a house for us? I don’t… Griffin, the money doesn’t matter to me. It’s not _mine_ , it’s just this resource, and I can use it for good stuff in my life, and you’re part of my life. It’s _our_ life, right?” 

Griffin smiles again and it looks less tired, more genuine. “Yeah, I guess so.” He’s thinking for a while, swinging their joined hands as they walk towards the center of the garden, with its neatly trimmed hedges and large fountain. “Something about it feels… it’s just the anxiety, I know, it just feels different, like a big deal. It feels important and I don’t know how and it’s scary?” 

Pat hums, thinking he understands what Griffin means. “Like it’s supposed to be the start of some next big phase in life?” 

Griffin has a look on his face, knit tightly between his brows, that Pat doesn’t know if he’s ever seen before. “Something like that, yeah.” 

“We can _make_ it special,” Pat offers and Griffin laughs it off, but Pat stops and tugs him by the hand to make him stop, too, and turn around. “Griffin.” This feels like wild impulse, but it’s not. He hadn’t been able to explain why he didn’t feel ready before and he doesn’t know why he’s ready now, but he is. He’s been thinking about this a lot lately, and he doesn’t think there will ever really be a right time and he’s not the type for formalities or tradition, but for Griffin’s sake, he does at least get down on one knee. The look of complete confusion on Griffin’s face makes him smile like a doofus and the stab of nervousness he’d felt as he knelt down is gone and he realizes how happy Griffin makes him just by existing. “Buddy…” Realization is dawning on Griffin’s face and there are tears springing to his eyes. “Will you marry me?” 

Pat has Griffin’s hand cupped between both of his and he hadn’t even meant to, but they’re in front of the fountain and he wonders if Griffin thinks he planned this, because he definitely fucking didn’t and it feels absolutely crazy, but it’s the most certain of anything he’s ever been in his life. He waits for Griffin to find his voice and when he does, it keens up in an excited whine, “Are you fucking _kidding me_?” but before Pat can take this the wrong way, he’s shouting at the top of his lungs, “ _ **Yes!**_ ” 

Pat surges up to kiss him so fast their glasses clack together and they’re laughing and kissing at the same time and Griffin manages to cry simultaneously, as well. His hands are speared into Pat’s hair, keeping him craned over and kissing him over and over between little sobbing laughs. “You idiot, you great big fucking dumbass, I love you so much, you absolute moron.” 

Pat pulls away with a big laugh and swipes the tears off his face, his body thrumming with joy, overwhelmed by it. Is this real? Is this actually happening? “I’m sorry, I really couldn’t do the whole ring and a corny location and flowers and--shit, I kind of did, didn’t I?” 

Griffin gasps in a breath, emotional and smiling so much it hurts. “You beat me by a _week_ , asshole!” 

They’re both laughing and hugging onto each other hard. A few people in earshot of Griffin’s yell are clapping and congratulating them but they might as well be on another planet, the two of them are absorbed entirely in each other. “I’m sorry, oh my god, should I take it back?” 

Griffin pulls away and cups Pat’s face, looking at him seriously. “Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t you dare. Nothing could be more perfect than this.” He hugs Pat again and rocks him back and forth, squeezing him almost painfully tight. The initial wave of emotional subsides a little and they awkwardly break apart, still hand-in-hand, and continue through the garden, heading back towards the car. 

“Did you really already have something planned?” Pat asks a little sheepishly. 

“Babe, I’ve gotta cancel reservations and shit.” Griffin is grinning, though. It’s worth it. His idea had probably been too cliche, anyway, and he’d spent the last few weeks almost backing out, too nervous. 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry!” Pat is laughing again, but genuinely feels bad. Griffin waves it off. 

“You told me you’d say yes if I asked. This way, I know for sure it’s what you really want.” An old habit, he reaches for Pat’s door and opens it for him. 

Pat leans against it with the door between them, his arms folded over the top. “Of course it’s what I want. I don’t really know what I think my future should look like, but I want you in it, always.” 

Griffin leans up on his toes and kisses Pat softly. “You’ve got me til the end, babe.” 

They sing loud and obnoxious pop songs all the way back to the apartment and Pat scoops up the cats when they’re inside, cooing to them sweetly, “Daddy and daddy are gonna get married, little boys!” He knows they’re really only excited about the treats Griffin is about to give them, but he can pretend, anyway. 

“Shit, I need to call my dad. He’s gonna flip out.” Pat needs to call Aunt Diane, but he wants to sit in on the call with Clint first, hiding just out of sight as Griffin Skypes his dad from his phone. 

Clint answers with a severe angle straight up his nose, adjusting his glasses and moving the phone away slightly. “Did I do it right?” 

“Yeah, daddy, I’m here.” 

“Heeeey, Ditto, there you are! What’s goin’ on?” 

“Daddy, you remember that thing I’ve been planning for Pat?” 

“Uh-yeah, honey. That wasn’t this weekend, was it?” Clint’s animated face has Pat clamping a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. 

“No, it’s next week, but uh… he beat me to it.” 

It takes Clint a moment to process and then he’s cooing and laughing and he’s pressing a hand over his heart. “Ooooh, good!” He stops dead and asks seriously, “You did say _yes_ , right?” 

Griffin rolls his eyes. “Of course I did, Dad.” 

Pat pops into frame and waves. “Hi, Clint!” 

“Patriiiick!” Griffin as a teenager couldn’t have imagined ever in his life seeing his dad so genuinely happy that he’s engaged to another man, but it’s clear as day that Clint is over the moon for him and it makes him start crying all over again. Thankfully, Pat and Clint talk for a little while, though Pat is crying pretty soon, too, when Clint gets very sincere and tells him he’ll be happy to have Pat as part of their family. 

Once they’re done talking to Clint, they call Aunt Diane and have more or less the same excited conversation. Aunt Diane had been driving to work and has to pull over she gets so excited and tearful. It’s nice knowing the people that love them are so happy for them. They already have dinner with Ashley and Simone planned for tomorrow and agree to wait until then to tell them, knowing their reaction will be explosive and positive. Pat anticipates lots of excited screaming. 

Hanging up with Diane, they are left in a surreal silence, smiling goofily at each other on the couch. “So what were you planning, anyway?” Pat asks, prompting Griffin to curse and unlock his phone to send a cancellation email or five. 

“Uuuh, look, it was really cheesy, I was just gonna go all out, really, it was a dumb idea…” 

Pat tilts his head and raises his brows, poking Griffin gently in the ribs. “Come ooon, tell me!” 

Griffin composes an email and then saves it to drafts instead, putting his phone away, already blushing. “I was, um… I was gonna take you out to dinner at a nice Cambodian place.” 

“Oh shit, the one with that weird lotus fountain?!” 

“Yeah, that one. And then, I was gonna take you to Monterey Bay Aquarium, I pulled some strings and got us some time after hours to tour the main building, and I rented a string trio to be playing in the main hall, at the big tank, with floral arrangements and a bottle of really nice champagne, like, real champagne, and a photographer, and that’s where I was gonna… y’know.” He seems embarrassed, but Pat is having to hold back a squeal. It’s so corny, but it sounds so lovely. He’s hiding a huge grin behind his hand, easily imagining the absurdly romantic display Griffin had planned. 

“Did you have a ring?” 

Griffin shrugs. “I thought about it. I looked at a lot, but nothing seemed right, and it seemed a little too traditional for us. Why, would you want one?” 

Pat shakes his head. “No, that’s a good call. I do like the idea of wedding rings, but an engagement ring is a little much.” 

“Too hetero?” 

Pat snorts. “Yeah, exactly.” He reaches out and slides his fingers through Griffin’s hair affectionately. “Don’t cancel next weekend. Well… maybe the flowers and the musicians if you feel like it, but especially if any of it’s stuff you’ve already spent money on that you can’t get back, that sounds like… a really epic date. And we could still have nice engagement photos? I’m sorry I stole your thunder.” 

Griffin laughs, shaking his head, leaning into Pat’s side and looping his arms around his waist. “It’s fine, honestly! All I care about is being with you, for the rest of my life. I thought about taking some photos of us and having them blown up and set out around the aquarium so we could, like… revisit our greatest hits before we got to the main tank? But I ran outta cash and realized that was super dorky.” 

Pat hugs onto Griffin tightly, kissing his head. “I love you a bunch.” It does sounds dorky and silly and irrational, but so is love in a lot of ways, and the energy and thought Griffin had put into the whole plan doesn’t go unappreciated by any means. 

Griffin nuzzles his nose under Pat’s chin. “Love you, too. Gonna love you forever.” 

“Save it for the vows,” Pat teases. 

They sit for a while just like that, cuddling and quiet and trying to draw out the golden, suspended sense of joy, to savor it as is. Griffin realizes this now adds planning a wedding on top of all the other things he’s been worried about, but it makes it feel balanced, adds just enough weight to everything else to shift it into something different. He’s still anxious about all the practical things, but he doesn’t feel the same sense of dread as before. For weeks, he’d been wondering if Pat might say no, if everything was going to fall apart, and he’d been trying to hide it from Pat that he was so nervous and working so hard to keep everything a secret and all at the same time he was ready to bail and cancel all the plans and just wait until marriage was something Pat brought up, instead, and like always, without even knowing, Pat was there for him exactly how he needed. 

They look online at houses in Portland and broadly discuss weddings plans--Pat wants something very small and private and after two weddings with his brothers, Griffin thinks that sounds perfect--but it isn’t even about looking at the future right now, not right this second. They both feel like today can be about just enjoying that they _want_ that shared future. Talking about porch swings and finished basements, weddings rings and ceremony venues, it isn’t really about those things at all just yet. It will be eventually, and they may revisit their ideas from now, but in the immediate moment, it’s simply about having the same goal, of looking forward in the same direction, and having the focus on that point in the distance become clearer. 

For Pat, especially, the future has often been a strange, ephemeral thing, and at one point even something he was ready to forfeit, and now, he’s never been so ready for it, so excited to know it’s there and something he can put effort into and build. He might sometimes fear that how this feels now will one day fade, but those fears feel more and more flimsy, and the thought of carrying and nurturing this relationship, of having a well of love and companionship for the whole foreseeable road onward makes him more glad to be alive than he’s ever felt. They’ll have to work for it, and at times it might not be easy, but as with all things with Griffin, it’s worth it.


	32. Chapter 32

The sun hasn’t quite made it to the far side of the house where the giant cat tree sits overlooking the yard, so the cats are squeezed together in a tiny shaft of morning sunlight by the front door. Griffin clanks softly down the spiral stairs from the office loft and walks back into the bedroom, looking for the watch Pat had given him on their first year anniversary, the tie from their third wedding anniversary, just passed, still hanging undone around his neck. Across the house, at the wall of windows bisected by the stone fireplace, there are a lot of years displayed in photos. 

It’s strange sometimes to realize how baby-faced they look in the earliest photo, still living together in Austin and working out what being in love means. It feels like they were in that apartment only a year ago, but it’s been six since Pat moved out to California. Los Angeles, too, marked in photos of them with Simone and Ashley at Pride, of backlit silhouette kisses at the loveseat before they’d left the city, can feel like such a short time ago, but they’ve been in this house now for as long as they’ve been married, and they aren’t newly weds anymore. There’s photos from when they were, though, of course. Their honeymoon across southeast Asia, sitting together at the table on the back patio of this house, their first house together, once everything had been moved in. There’s photos of them with their nieces and family, too, and at the center of all of it, perhaps innocuous to most, is their wedding. 

There had been a party in Huntington after their honeymoon--Aunt Diane and Uncle Ron had driven down from Maine to surprise them--and they had gone to a courthouse to make it legal, but their wedding, the moment they were bound to each other, is unquestionably their ceremony alone in the woods. Pat had wanted to go back to the redwood forest in San Francisco and Griffin would have agreed to anything, but he knows he couldn’t have picked something better. They hiked in on the trail and then wandered off, sneaking away and finding a small clearing. They wore the nicest clothes they could manage without looking too odd, or being too uncomfortable, and both had small bouquets of wildflowers. They took in a camera and a tripod, setting it up and letting it record in the clearing while they walked away in different directions, gathering themselves, making some emotional room to really appreciate what was about to happen. When they met again in the clearing, neither of them could stop smiling. 

They’d written their own vows, some traditional, some more personal, perhaps obscure. Pat promised to never get mad that Griffin leaves his socks on the floor--though no promises that he won't occasionally complain--and that he will never hide how he’s feeling. Griffin vows to speak up when he needs help, something that’s very hard for him to do, and to never let Pat doubt how much he loves him. They swear to put each other first, so that when they can’t take care of themselves, as they can often become slack about, the other will be there to fill in the gaps. It isn’t an obligation, it’s a service of love. All they want in the world is to see each other happy, and there’s no job more rewarding than to help make that happen. Pat promises to stay in therapy and medicated even when it’s hard. Griffin swears he’ll never eat the last ice cream bar without replacing it. 

They sealed their vows with a kiss, the moment captured at the center of the ensemble of photos on the fireplace mantle. They had both cried, a lot, but the tears of joy had felt like libations of gratitude to the Universe that their lives had had the opportunity to cross. If they really thought about it, what were the odds? It was almost like fate. Their pressed and dried bouquets hang over the dresser in the bedroom, along with the dried sprig of rosemary Pat had taken from the rogue bush in the middle of the forest on their first visit. They both wear simple, plain rose gold bands, with an inscription on the inside: 

_Where you go, I go._

In over seven years, it’s always been true. To different cities, to the hospital (minor surgery, Pat still has the video of groggy, loopy Griffin waking up from anaesthesia), to new and better mental states, and even sometimes into darker ones. Since Griffin moved to LA, they haven’t spent more than twenty-four hours apart, and while they can bicker and argue, they never get tired of one another. Their routines revolve around one another, their life together feels like one shared between two people rather than two people sharing individual lives. They go on walks in the morning, often down to the creek about a half mile from their house, surrounded with woods and only a few neighbors at a good distance. It’s a drive into Portland, but it’s worth it to have their space, to be surrounded by nature instead of other houses or crammed into a building with lots of other people and families, trapped in a claustrophobic urban environment. The forty-five minute commute is a fair price to pay. 

They’ll need to be taking that drive soon. Pat checks the time, sitting on the couch playing the demo levels of his game for the thousandth time. He looks up to see Griffin rooting through the pockets of his coat hung by the door. “What are you looking for?” 

Griffin grunts. “My watch! I can’t find it.” 

“Bowl in the kitchen,” Pat offers without having to even think about it. Sure enough, in the bowl by the microwave with their keys and loose change and sunglasses, is Griffin’s watch. Pat turns off the TV and sighs, pulling on his jacket and checking to make sure his pass is in the pocket. They’d spent all of yesterday setting up his booth and part of him is scared that when they go in today, everything won't be there. Or some technical issue will interfere and no one will get to play the demo levels. Or one or both of them will completely bomb an interview or have a panic attack from the crowd. Most of the time when Pat thinks about this finally being real, he cries because he’s so goddamn happy, and so proud of all the work he’s put into it, but now, this week, _today_ , when he finally gets to put it out into the world and _has his own booth **at PAX**_ , it just doesn’t feel real. It can’t possibly be real. He’s so, so grateful and amazed that it’s real. 

They have a little time before anyone is let into the exhibition hall and it’s nice now, with just other game developers at their booths, here in the little island of small indie games, just other creative people happy to put their work out into the world. Pat and Griffin had gotten to walk over to the other hall yesterday and seen teams of people setting up enormous screens and stages for the big companies and in a way, he’s glad that isn’t his scene. As a consumer, sure, it’s fun and exciting, but as a creator, he’s content to be smaller scale. It doesn’t have a full-sized dragon sculpture, but he’d worked hard on his booth, with its felt mushrooms and fake foliage and canopy of black gauze set with tiny sparkling LED stars. Stepping into the booth to play on one of the two set-ups is like stepping into a small, private, evening forest glen, with the main table with the looped demo reel set out front. A few of the other developers have come and done a few test runs, and Pat and Griffin have made a round of the indie island to see what other folks had brought, and the shared enthusiasm has Pat absurdly excited. 

He’s glad the press comes in first. It’s nice getting the high pressure stuff out of the way. He and Griffin trade off with interviews and handing out thumb drives with video clips and a demo level to reporters to use. They’ve practiced succinctly explaining the game to each other for days, had given fake interviews in the car on the way here. 

“ _Weather Through_ is a game where you play as a mushroom forest spirit who has to travel far away from their home to bring back the sun. Inside their cap, they carry their own weather, and this can change at random, and be effected by gameplay. So if it’s getting cloudy in your cap and you know it’s going to rain if you don’t stop and rest, you can choose to do that, but the worse the weather is, the more handicaps you encounter in the gameplay. You meet friends and enemies and for the most part, the player can choose which of these the other creatures they encounter will be. It’s a playable story, but one with several different tellings and three endings, depending on what choices the player makes.” 

“Is the weather inside the mushroom head a metaphor for mental health?” An actual journalist now, with a microphone and a camera operator. 

“Yeah, definitely. Depression and anxiety can feel a lot like internal weather. Some days it’s cloudy and you take an umbrella and if it rains, you’re okay, and some days you step outside and it’s sunny but a storm can come on really quick and you’re completely unprepared. Mental illness can feel like this a lot, and it isn’t about controlling the weather, but knowing how to be prepared for it, how to help deal with it, and you learn a balance of this throughout the game.” 

“The art is really pretty, and the music is so soothing, I think I took up more time than I was supposed to playing the demo.” 

Pat laughs. “That’s okay, thank you. My husband wrote all of the music.” Griffin waves from behind him, talking with another reporter currently playing the game. 

When the conference officially opens and ordinary people start pouring in and lining up to play, Pat has a breakdown. It’s a good one, he’s so overwhelmed by seeing people actually play his game, strangers that don’t owe him shit really enjoying something he’s worked on for so long. He excuses himself to get it together and splash some water on his face, and when he comes back, he stops and lingers at the far side of the hall to watch Griffin talking to a group of younger attendees, handing them a download code for a secret extra level on Steam, which the game had been released on _today_. Pat has to turn off his Twitter notifications by lunch, his phone had started to blow up, but it’s all so much positive energy. For as long as he’s dreamed about this, he feels an intense need to appreciate every single moment of it, and the day passes all at once. 

He’s floating and giddy and exhausted as they head back to his car and he hands the keys to Griffin, opening up Twitter to read through reviews on the drive home. They’ll be turning around to do it all again tomorrow and Sunday, but truthfully, Pat could do this for weeks on end. Not all the Tweets are glowing reviews, but most of them are nice, and a shining few are thoughtful and touching and make him feel so good about letting the game be a metaphor about something so personal and heavy and unpleasant. It’s already found its mark with people who need it, and that’s all he could ever ask for. 

He DMs a few of them the secret level code and a quick thank you and reads Griffin his favorites, but for the most part, they don’t speak on the drive. It’s a comfortable silence. In seven years, they’ve developed very good communication. They can read each other without words, like how Pat knows that Griffin's hand on his knee means “you did really good today, I'm so proud of you”, and they know exactly what to say and how to say it when the other needs it. They’ve learned to say anything at all when it’s hardest to open up, and how to give stern advice in the softest way possible, and in the best way so that it is really heard. They have inside jokes no one else could begin to understand, even if they broke down the dozen layers of references and traced it back to the source, and have about a thousand different ways to say ‘I love you’. 

And sometimes it’s silence. In the end, they’ve learned best to simply read each other’s presence, to know how to exist together in a way that is pleasant and open and symbiotic. No words are just as good as any pep talk sometimes, are just as kind as a compliment, just as loving as a romantic sentiment. They had had nothing but communication to rely on for a year together early on, and it’s served them well through everything else. They can talk for hours, sometimes about stuff they’ve already talked to death, but silence is good, too. With the string of… fate? Love? By cosmic knots or their own choosing, that thing connecting them is always there, and in the silence, it’s nice to let everything but that which binds them fall away. Even in silence, they always understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there it is. this fic, bittersweet as it is now, pulled me out of a really lonely creative slump. it's been buck wild, and i truly can't thank all of you enough for making it this far and leaving such kind feedback and support. if you've enjoyed my writing style and you're into witchy sci-fi worldbuilding and another relationship-goals couple, i'm posting little snippets of an original project i've just started over on its own designated blog, **[@0ssuary](http://0ssuary.tumblr.com)** , and it could really use some love. see you around! ੧(❛▿❛✿)


End file.
